Lift Me Up
by kbeauc2
Summary: After Amanda admits that Deputy Chief Patton raped her, she falls lower than ever before. Olivia helps her take her first steps towards recovery, sparking a deep friendship and relationship that will change Amanda's life forever. Post Forgiving Rollins Fic. Trigger Warning-Dark Themes and mentions of rape/violence.
1. Chapter 1

**Lift Me Up**

**Chapter 1**

She came to on the floor, feeling something warm and wet against her cheek. Amanda Rollins blinked a few times, squinting against the ceiling fan lights overhead, then shut her eyes again, the brightness too harsh for her pounding head. She heard a plaintive whimper; the moist tongue moved from her cheek to lap her forehead. Frannie. Blindly, Amanda groped for her dog, desperate for the soft fur, the comforting contact, as her apartment swam and spun around her.

With one hand hooked under Frannie's collar for support, the hungover young woman groaned, forced open her eyes, and pulled herself up to a sitting position. Her mouth felt full of cotton. If she could just make it to the bathroom, splash some water on her face—but before she had time to react, her stomach lurched. Though she tried to clap a hand over her mouth, the vomit still spewed forth, gushing down the front of her rumpled tank top. Amanda coughed and heaved helplessly, the aftertaste of vodka and bourbon and pretty much every kind of liquor she had in the kitchen cabinet a sour burning in her throat. Humiliated, drenched in her own puke, she stumbled to her feet and groped her way toward the bathroom and the shower, her mind a slur of dark thoughts. _Wash up you disgusting bitch_…

After peeling off her clothes, she made sure the shower was freezing cold, the knob for the water turned all the way to the "C", so that the icy spray made her flinch and gasp. She took pleasure in penalizing herself with a cold shower, in punishing herself, period, these days, and stood there shivering until she felt numb . She might have stayed there for hours had she not heard the familiar twang of her ringtone over the running water, a country song she couldn't remember the name of but that reminded her of home. _Kim…it could be Kim…_she thought as she always did when her cell rang, and she fumbled out of the shower and ran into the living room dripping and naked, stupidly hopeful as ever that her little sister would be on the other end of the line. She had been so drunk the night before that she had no recollection of where she left her phone, so she followed the music until she found it wedged between the sofa cushions. "Hello…"she gasped, answering without checking the caller ID in her rush.

"Amanda… Finally you pick up! I've been trying to reach you for days. So has Fin. What the hell's been going on?"

Amanda felt another wave of nausea, this time sick from disappointment. Nick. Of course it wouldn't be the sister she had failed. She made to disconnect the call, but the male voice on the other end of the line had her frozen. Her heart had kicked up it's pace; her mouth gone dry. She was acutely aware of her nakedness and stumbled back into the bathroom with the phone still clutched to her ear, groping for a towel to wrap around herself. "Amanda? Christ, Amanda, are you there? If you don't answer me, I'm coming to your place to check on you whether you want me there or not. I've been scared shitless about you and…"

"No! Amanda choked out. "No, Nick, I need space…I told you I need time!"

"Needing space is one thing, Amanda. Disappearing for days and avoiding my calls is another. The entire squad is worried. Liv was ready to send an officer over to your apartment…"

Amanda's heart did a little hop . "Olivia? Olivia asked about me?"

"Of course she did. You're supposed to come back to work in a week and no one's seen you."

Something hardened in Amanda's chest. "Oh," she muttered. Of course. Olivia was only concerned about whether she could was going to show up and do her job.

Nick let out a long sigh. "Well? Are you coming back to work, Amanda? I understand you needing to take time after what happened to you with Patton, the trial, everything. I really do. But I can't help but feel that you're hiding away."

"I'm not hiding away," she snarled."I _want _to be left alone." Amanda jammed the off button on her phone and cut off Nick's voice, curled up on the bathroom tiles, and lay trembling under her towel, her shoulders quaking with rage. But, as always happened when she lashed out, the anger slowly drained out of her until she just felt empty.

* * *

Later that night, Amanda dreamt of Kim. Her sister was dirty, clothes torn, barefoot in an alley at nighttime. "Manda! Manda!" she sobbed, arms outstretched. "Help me!" Amanda could see the bruising under both her sister's eyes. She wanted to run to Kim, to hold her, to help her, but strong arms pinned her back. She twisted and writhed and tried to break free. "Get off me, "she shrieked at her unknown captor. "Get off me!"

The all-too-recognizable voice hissed in her ear. "You know I don't take no for an answer, Amanda." And just like that, Amanda went limp. She would do it. She would do it if it meant reaching her sister. Deputy Chief Patton whirled her around and slammed her up against a brick wall. He lifted up her skirt, yanked down her panties, and thrust inside her, over and over. Panting, groaning, he finally backed off. Amanda crumpled to the pavement. She turned to look for Kim but she was inexplicably gone. Vanished, as had Patton, leaving her alone on the ground. Amanda tried to call out over and over again, staring up at a starlit sky, but her screams were silent. Suddenly, a familiar face appeared in her line of vision. Brown eyes that could be both stern and gentle glistened softly in the darkened alley. It's okay, sweetheart." Olivia murmured. She lay a cool hand on Amanda's forehead.

Amanda startled awake, her heart thudding loudly in her ears. Something was _still_ pressed against her forehead. Her hand flew to her hairline and the cool nose snuffed her. Frannie. Just Frannie. Her poor dog was probably confused as ever that her owner kept ending up on the floor. But that's just how low she felt those three weeks that she had taken a leave of absence at work after admitting that Deputy Chief Patton had raped her.

Before Patton had come into town, before the trial, she had managed to keep things together. Sure, there had been the drinking, smoking, and the gambling. But she had thrown herself into her work to the best of her ability. She reached out to victims, gave chase after rapists on the street, was able to hold her gun with a steady hand. She had even managed a semblance of a relationship, grabbing drinks and dinner with Nick, managing nights in together, even forcing herself through the sex. But since she had said those three words aloud, "he raped me," it felt hard to be awake, hard to be alive lately. Amanda spent time trying to make herself small. She curled up under the blankets in bed, hunched over on the couch and stared blankly at the TV, or staggered home drunk, sometimes crawling on her hands and knees to the toilet, other times passing out only to wake up with a migraine and fuzzy memories. She was escalating with the alcohol.

Shivering, Amanda shifted under her towel and moved her cheek from the bathroom tiles. She had to _stand up_, at least. Get dressed. She could manage that, couldn't she? Plus, she needed to walk Frannie. Groaning, she pulled the towel more firmly around herself, stumbled into the bedroom, and threw on some sweats and an NYPD t-shirt. Squirming with anticipation, Frannie barked and nudged her leash hanging by the door. Amanda walked out of her apartment without remembering her coat. Her mind was still on her nightmare. That, in itself, was nothing new these days. But she wondered how Olivia Benson had wormed her way into her dreams.

* * *

Amanda tried not to care what Olivia thought of her. She had come to New York in awe of her; her reputation as a female SVU detective was one of the first things she had learned when she had transferred from Atlanta. But there had been too many disappointments, too many false starts at friendship, too many times when she had disappointed the detective-turned-sergeant, that she had given up on forming any kind of real working relationship with Olivia and even grown wary of her. They were just too different, Amanda reasoned. Sergeant Benson was strong, put together, smart, beautiful, and intelligent. And she was, just, well…Amanda Rollins. So she made sure there was a good distance between them. She had perfected her blasé , "okay Sergeant. Yes, Sergeant." She knew how to respond with a neutral raise of the eyebrows or silent nod when reprimanded, without wincing or looking at the floor or showing the slightest crack in her indifference. But some days, after arriving to work late and mumbling some unconcerned, rehearsed excuse to Olivia, she would go into the bathroom and pinch her wrist, hard, until her fingernails cut crescents into her skin. Other times she felt a stab of longing and sadness when she saw Olivia and Nick banter with one another and bring each other lunch. Or, she might be at Starbucks ordering her Chai Latte, see someone order a mocha with two shots of espresso, and think, "That's Olivia's drink," and she would feel sad, because if they had been friends, they might have bought each other coffee.

The night before Amanda was supposed to return to work and meet Olivia in her office to be reinstated on the job, she couldn't sit still in her apartment. She kept wringing and clenching her hands and opening and closing the liquor cabinet without pulling anything out. Rarely had Amanda gone without a drink those nights since she had taken her leave—yet in spite of the craving she had, she was trying to refrain from alcohol. She had to be on time tomorrow, and passing out wouldn't do. _To hell with Liv_, she murmured aloud, testing the words out on her fourth trip to the liquor cabinet. She fingered a bottle of vodka but didn't pull it out. The problem was, when she wasn't drinking, she thought about gambling. She had been holed up in her apartment so long the last few weeks that she hadn't really gone to meetings, so the urges came strong . Yet she hadn't been to a casino. That was one thing she could say. Grabbing a fistful of skin on her wrist, she pinched hard at the thought of playing a hand of cards, of cashing chips. _Just one shot_, she reasoned. _Just to get me into bed._ If she was asleep, she couldn't gamble. Caving, she opened a kitchen drawer and grabbed the "NYC" shot glass that Fin had bought her as a gag gift her first week in New York(his real welcome present had been a vase of daisies placed on her desk to commemorate the start of their partnership.)She quickly poured and then chugged the cheap vodka.

One shot, of course, wasn't going to work right away. She went to the coat closet and retrieved a pack of Marlboros and a lighter from her coat pocket, taking care to leave the car keys behind (they were too much of a temptation.) Once again not bothering to bundle up, she walked straight out into the biting February night air. Unlike Nick and Fin and Olivia, who managed to afford loft apartments with indoor access, her place had doors the led directly outside—gambling debts meant that she couldn't spare any extra on rent or amenities. Yet she liked feeling the immediacy of the city right outside her door; her heart always quickened when she stepped out onto the eighth floor walkway and saw all the buildings around her and heard the rush of traffic below. _"I'm in New York,_ she thought. Tonight, though, there was no familiar thrill when she came outside. Her heart was just restless. She took a few long, slow drags on her cigarette, its glowing amber tip all the nearby light she had, as the outdoor lamp by her door had longed burned out and she had neglected to change the bulb. The city around her, of course, was always lit up, always awake. She listened to the honking of horns and the screeching of tires, the voices echoing on the sidewalks below. A few puffs later, her pulse began to slow and the liquor and nicotine began to take effect. But along with the quieting of her body came a steady melancholy. She missed Kim. She missed her coworkers. She missed the casino.

A snippet of her last conversation with Olivia office crept into her thoughts. "I know you don't like self-pity, Amanda," Olivia had said. Ha, Amanda thought bitterly. If the Sergeant could see her now. Flicking ash off the side of the balcony, Amanda turned her back to New York and leaned on the railing; and suddenly she was being pinned up against another railing outside of a third-floor motel room one humid Georgia evening, Patton's hands wandering under her shirt before they had even swiped the key to get inside. "It's what's best for your sister, Amanda," he had growled, already aroused. And right there, outside in the open, where everyone could've seen, she had put her own two trembling hands on the sides of his stubbled face and forced her lips to his.

Startled, horrified that this memory had invaded into her mind, Amanda gasped, struggling to catch her breath for a few long minutes. She thought of her former self that night. That woman, that person_, was_ pitiful. She yanked up her sweatshirt sleeve. With one angry, deliberate motion, she ground out her cigarette on her forearm. Then she took the still-hot tip to each of her palms, the hands that had touched Patton.

* * *

Amanda jogged into the squad room at 8:01, panting and out of breath. _Shit, _she thought. _One minute late. _Clutching her side, which was in stitches, she ignored the pointed stares she got from Fin and Nick and concentrated on making her way to her desk, eyes sweeping the room for Liv. Did the Sergeant know she hadn't made it on time? Luckily, the door to Olivia's office was still closed, the blinds shut. She saw Nick approaching from her peripheral vision, tensed, and jammed both burned hands inside her coat pockets.

"Amanda...hey. Welcome back. Glad you made it."

She cleared her throat. "Yeah…glad to be back," she muttered, avoiding eye contact. "Does Liv know I'm late?"

"Nah, I don't think so," Finn chuckled. He moved forward to hug Amanda, but she kept her hands firmly in her pockets, so he backed off awkwardly. The blond detective felt her face flush. "It's 8:02, Amanda," he said, keeping up the smile.

"Liv's on the phone about Noah," Nick cut in, trying to keep the conversation going. "I'm sure she'll be out to talk to you soon-"

"Yeah, but I'm ready to work, " Amanda said . "This meeting with Olivia is just a formality."

Both men were silent. Amanda sat down stiffly in her chair. Fin finally broke the quiet. "Baby girl, glad to see you're among the living." he said softly. He graciously walked back to his desk, offering Amanda some needed space. Amanda swallowed, simultaneously full of affection for her partner and shame for wanting him away from her. Nick, however, was not ready to back off. He hovered over Amanda, waiting for her to say something else. Luckily, just then, Liv swung open her office door.

"Morning," she said, nodding to Nick and Finn. "Rollins…come on in."

On feet made of lead, Amanda stood up and walked towards Sergeant Benson's office. Olivia held the door open for her, then carefully closed it behind them.

"How's Noah?" Amanda choked out. Her cheeks burned hotter than they already were. She didn't usually make small talk with Olivia. She didn't have the right to, really—not when it was a ploy to steer the conversation. But Olivia circled around her desk and actually smiled at the detective. "Fine, thanks for asking. Getting bigger every day. I just spoke with the pediatrician; his ribs and lungs are doing well." She took a sip from her Starbucks cup and motioned toward the leather couch. "Have a seat," she said.  
Amanda perched on the edge of the couch. She made sure to keep her hands in her pockets. " I'm ready to work, Sergeant. I think I've taken enough time off and-"

"Amanda," Olivia cut in softly. Amanda froze. She and Olivia hadn't been on much of a first name basis. It was usually "Sergeant" and "Rollins." But three weeks ago, after she had disclosed the rape, Olivia had called her Amanda, too. As then, Olivia's voice was gentle. "You have dark circles under your eyes. You're pale. You're thin."

"I'm fine."

"Fin and Nick had been calling you for days; they thought you were missing. We were about to put out a report before Nick finally got ahold of you. "

"I needed space," Amanda snapped. "I did what I needed to get myself back together. And I'm ready now…I'm ready to come back to work. That's the important thing, isn't it? That I'm ready to do the job ?"

Olivia sighed and studied Amanda for several moments. "Amanda…did you see Dr. Lindstrom for that referral we talked about?"

Amanda bit her lip, hard. "I went to his office," she mumbled.

Olivia studied her and sat quietly. Her unwavering gaze was full of sympathy. It was the face of compassion that she gave to victims. Usually, this look would have infuriated Amanda. But, to her horror, it moved her to tears instead.

"I—I tried to go in," she stammered, defeated. "I tried, Serge." She hung her head and let out a soft sob.

Amanda heard the wheels of Olivia's chair squeak as she pushed back from her desk. She went rigid as her sergeant made her way over to the sofa and sat gingerly beside her. She didn't try to touch Amanda. "It's okay"…she murmured softly. "You can cry."

Amanda begged to differ; she swiped angrily at her cheeks and tried to staunch the flow of hot tears. "I wanted to go in…but I panicked. I'm a coward."

"Would you stop?" Olivia said. "Stop_ blaming_ yourself, Amanda." She scooted a little closer to the detective. "Listen to me…I want you to try again." Before Amanda could even respond, Olivia had pulled her cell phone out of her pocket and started dialing a number.

"Hello…Dr. Lindstrom? It's Olivia Benson. When is the next appointment you have available?"

Amanda's mouth dropped, but Olivia held up a finger to silence her. She nodded into the phone. "Uh-huh. Great. Okay then, bye-bye."

Olivia flipped her phone shut. "He has an appointment open tomorrow at 10:00 am. I want you to be there. Do you have anyone who can go with you?"

"I'm supposed to be working tomorrow at 10:00," Amanda argued, finally having gotten the tears under control. Olivia shook her head. "I want you back to work, Amanda. But not until you're ready. Not until you've gotten some help."

"I'm the one who decided to take a leave of absence," Amanda shot back. "It was never a condition of employment for me to take time off."

Olivia didn't rise to her anger. "I know," she said simply. "But I'm making it one now."

Amanda should of screamed and raged at Olivia, but just like in her dreams, she couldn't make a sound. _ Not go back to work?_ She looked imploringly at her Sergeant, then looked at the floor. A slow agony took ahold of Amanda, and suddenly the tears were flowing again.

"I want you back to work," Olivia whispered this time. "Do you have anyone who can go with you to your session tomorrow? Fin? Nick?"

"I… I can't…" Amanda fell silent. _I can't be around men right now, _she thought. But she couldn't say the words aloud. "I don't feel comfortable with that," she mumbled instead. "I just… she choked on another sob. "Olivia, I won't be able to do it. I won't be able to go into that office." The words tumbled out before she could stop them, like tossed dice. "Remember that _horrible _thing I said to you about 'paying someone to listen to your problems?' I said that out of spite, cause I knew that I wouldn't ever have the guts to get help."

" _**I **_could go with you," Olivia said thoughtfully. "I'm sure I could have Fin cover the station for an hour or two. I know I'm not your first choice, but…it's an option. I could sit with you in the waiting room till it's time to go in."

Amanda was speechless. It shouldn't have come as a shock… Olivia had done no less for the victims; she had gone out of her way to take a few of them to therapy and help them take the first step to recovery. Again, in theory, that should have had Amanda raging…that Olivia thought of her as a _vic. _But mostly, she was deeply moved.

Swiping away more tears, Amanda looked at the floor. "You'd…do that for me?"

"Of course, Amanda. And I'll take that as a yes," Olivia said, pulling a tissue out from the Kleenex box on the side table and offering one to the detective. Amanda took it and mopped her damp face. "And if I go to the session, I come back to work?" She tried to make her voice sound authoritative, like she was driving a hard bargain or placing a bet, but it quavered again.

"Yes, Amanda…but let's give it till next week. I want you to rest up a couple of days before you're working cases again. And I want to see you at 10:00 tomorrow. On time," she said, smiling slyly.

Temporary relief exploded in Amanda's chest. She could still have her job. But she didn't know if she could make it through tomorrow morning's session, even with Olivia there.


	2. Chapter 2

AN: Thanks, everyone, for the reviews! It's a little shorter but I hope you all enjoy this chapter.

**Chapter 2**

Amanda knew she couldn't really get away with wearing sunglasses on a gray February morning. She sighed and lowered them to her nose, peering at herself in her car mirror; even with makeup, the circles under her eyes were dark and pronounced. Her nightmares had been vivid last night; three shots of bourbon hadn't been enough to drown out her dreams. In the one she remembered most, she had gone to her appointment to meet Olivia, but when she opened the door with the gold plate that said "Dr. Lindstrom's office," Patton and her whole squad from Atlanta had been in the waiting room, the Deputy Chief leering at her and laughing. Amanda looked down and realized she was naked. Patton loosened his belt buckle. "Everybody watch," he drawled. He rushed at her before she woke up in a cold sweat.

Now, watching the minutes tick by on her dashboard clock, Amanda's sweaty, blistered palms gripped the steering wheel. 9:55. She knew Olivia was already in there waiting for her; the sergeant had taken one of the squad cars and parallel parked a few spaces up from Amanda's spot. Dr. Lindstrom's office was located in a stretch of Queen Anne row houses on the Upper West Side, in a spacious house with a gabled roof and bay windows that had been converted into several offices. An innocuous enough place, but still, the dread was heavy in Amanda's stomach. She'd rather be anywhere but here, but she would do what she had to do to get back to work.

Counting to three, she stepped out of the car and strode up to the entrance of the house, then found herself unable to open the door. It wasn't fight or fight but the freeze response that took ahold of her. She felt as if her feet were nailed to the stoop, her hand stiff and clammy on the brass door handle. Beads of sweat trailed down the back of her neck as long minutes passed.

Her phone went off loudly in her purse and she jumped, nearly spilling the contents of her bag. Somehow, she managed to get the phone to her ear.

"Amanda? Where are you?" Olivia asked. Her voice was disapproving at first, but when Olivia heard her detective's shuddery breaths, her tone turned to one of concern. "Are you alright?"

"Olivia…I'm here…I'm outside." Amanda said. "On the stoop. Can you…can you come and get me?" She couldn't believe how childlike her voice sounded.

"Hold on," Olivia said. "Take a deep breath, Amanda. "I'll be right there."

It seemed to take forever, but at last the door swung open and Amanda saw her sergeant standing in the foyer to the house. "I'm sorry," Amanda gasped. "I can't…I couldn't…"she motioned helplessly at the door.

"I know. It's okay. That's why I'm here. It's okay, Amanda. Just breathe." Very slowly, Olivia extended her hand, and, incapable of doing otherwise at this point, Amanda reached out and took it, allowing Olivia to help her over the threshold and into the building. "Remember, we're going just up these stairs and Dr. Lindstrom is on the left."

"I'm dizzy, Liv," Amanda warned.

"That's alright. I've got you," Olivia said, squeezing her hand very gently in affirmation. Amanda gripped back; the room really was spinning. Olivia held her hand the whole way up the staircase. They reached the door, with the gold plate, Dr. Lindstrom, on the front. "Shh," Olivia murmured, and Amanda realized that she must have whimpered.

The made it into a waiting room that was blissfully empty except for the two of them, although Amanda didn't know what she had been expecting_. It was just a stupid dream, after all._ Olivia led them over to two armchairs. "Take your time, Amanda," Olivia said, motioning to Dr. Lindstrom's closed door. "He's usually a few minutes behind schedule. " She released Amanda's hand and walked over to the complimentary water cooler, poured some water into a paper cone. "Here ," she said, offering the cold drink to the detective. Amanda took a long sip, then leaned back against the cushions of the chair and closed her eyes for a few moments. When she opened them, Olivia had taken a seat next to her. "I'm…I'm sorry Serge," she muttered. "I don't know what's wrong with me."

"I don't think you're taking care of yourself," Olivia said softly. Amanda looked at her lap.

The "tick tick" of a modern clock on the wall, jet black like all the leather furniture, was the only sound that filled the room for a few moments. Finally, Amanda spoke. "I…don't know why I'm so scared of therapy. Meetings, that I can do…" she trailed off. In gamblers anonymous meetings, at least, your secrets were still safe. Sure, you said your piece when it came to be your turn in the circle, admitted you were a gambler, offered up a tidbit or piece of advice or story about how you'd worked the program. But your time to talk was brief, and you could mostly choose to listen. In therapy, there would just be Amanda and a stranger who expected her to speak the unspeakable.

"I don't know if I can do this," Amanda admitted, her breaths starting to come quickly again.

"Yes you can, Amanda," Olivia said. "One step at a time. We're just here for your referral today. You don't have to talk about anything you don't want to until you're ready."

Amanda nodded but still couldn't seem to get enough air. She wheezed, shuddered, saw spots. "Hey…honey, I want you to breathe for me," Olivia coaxed._ That_ snapped Amanda out of it. Olivia had called her _honey. _She blinked till her vision cleared and sought out her Sergeant questioningly, meeting Olivia's watchful brown eyes. That steady, compassionate gaze buoyed Amanda. "What can I do to help?" Olivia asked.

Amanda shrugged her shoulders. "I don't know—a distraction?" she suggested. "Tell me how Noah's doing?"

At the mention of her son's name, Olivia broke into an unguarded smile. "I can do more than that," she said, pulling her cell phone out of her pocket. "I can show you." With a few flicks of the touch screen, she had pulled up a picture of baby Noah in his high chair bearing a giant, toothless grin, green baby food mush smeared on both cheeks. Probably peas, Amanda mused. "He knows he's a healthy boy, eating his veggies," Olivia chuckled. "He just couldn't get enough of them last night." Liv moved though more pictures in slow succession: Noah standing in his crib, smiling. Noah sucking on his toes. Noah crawling on the carpet, looking up at the camera and laughing. Though they had worked with each other every day for months after Olivia decided to foster Noah, it was the first time the detective had seen any baby pictures. As Amanda watched the adorable boy scroll by onscreen, she felt strangely honored.

The door to Dr. Lindstrom's office clicked open and the blonde detective snapped to attention. Olivia lay a hand on her arm to steady her. Had she done that a few weeks ago, even yesterday, Amanda would have shrugged the contact away. Today, though, when Olivia had taken her hand, Amanda had realized how lonely she had been, how much she craved human touch. Being palm to palm with Olivia had grounded her. She unconsciously leaned toward her Sergeant, cowering away from the silver-haired man waiting in the doorway, not even noticing the other patient on her way out. "Peter…hi" Olivia said, speaking for her. "This is my colleague, Amanda Rollins, that I told you about. She's here for a referral."

''Amanda…welcome," Dr. Lindstrom said. "Are you ready to come in?"

No, Amanda wanted to say, but her job was riding on this. Of course she would go in. Stiffly, she rose from the chair and made her way toward the office, then turned towards Olivia. The detective nodded her encouragement. "I'll be waiting for you when you come out," she assured Amanda. "I want to make sure you get home okay."

Amanda managed to survive the session without giving too much of anything away to this older man that she did not know. The whole "yes or no answer" trick got her through. Was there a history of mental illness in the family? Yes. Had she ever been in therapy before? No. Did she have any problems with addiction? Yes. History of trauma? Yes. Did she want to elaborate on that? No. After Dr. Lindstrom realized that she pretty much wasn't going to talk to him, he gave her a business card for a Dr. Julie Wheeler in Brooklyn who was a trauma specialist and promised to contact her and let her know to expect Amanda's call. As soon as Dr. Lindstrom stood up and she had forced herself to shake his hand, Amanda practically sprinted back out into the waiting room. To her relief, Olivia was still there, talking to Fin on her cell phone. She wrapped up the call when she saw the detective emerge. "Well? How did it go?"

Amanda held out Dr. Wheeler's business card. "Just what you ordered, Serge," she said, trying to keep her voice light. She was still shaken from sitting alone in that room with a prying stranger, a man no less. Olivia smiled. "I'm proud of you, Amanda," she said simply. "You'll make the call?"

"Yeah," Amanda lied.

* * *

Olivia followed her home in the squad car to make sure that Amanda made it back to her place okay, waving goodbye to her from the driver's seat once Amanda had safely parallel parked. Something tore inside Amanda when she ripped the business card for Dr. Wheeler in two and tossed the halves in the trashcan on the sidewalk. Olivia's had said that she was _proud_ of her. They were words that Amanda had never before expected to hear. She wanted the casino. She wanted a drink. No…more than anything, she realized, she wanted a cigarette.

She reached into her coat pocket, pulled out the trusty pack of Marlboro menthols. Quickly, she moved around to the side of her ten story building- a brick warehouse turned apartment complex that had promised to be hip but was really just modest—so that she was facing the back of a dry cleaners, where she was out of sight. There, she lit a cigarette, but she didn't smoke it. Instead, she shrugged off her coat, rolled up her sleeve, and pressed the hot end next to the older scar on her forearm. The pain was searing but felt good. She burned herself three more times, leaving a trail of fresh blisters. No matter. No one had to know.


	3. Chapter 3

A/N: Hope you guys enjoy this chapter :)

**Chapter 3**

If there was one thing Amanda knew for sure, it was that she couldn't wait a week to go back to work, even if Olivia had ordered her to rest up. Later that day, after a few long, empty hours in her apartment, she had gotten in her car and started driving to Atlantic City. About an hour later on the highway, with five hundred dollars in her pocket and a detailed plan on how to spend it—poker, blackjack, then roulette—she had finally managed to screech to the shoulder and sat there shaking. She had to turn the car around. She had to get to a meeting. But it was 9:30 at night and Gambler's Anonymous had met at Grace Baptist Church at 8:00 back in New York. She merged back into traffic, Atlantic City-bound again, with hot tears rolling down her cheeks. She hadn't thought she could go back to New York, hadn't felt like she had a choice anymore, so when a truck passed her on the left, tantalizingly close, she had thought,_ swerve. _She flexed her hands on the wheel; it would only take one motion …

**That **had scared her. That made her veer off to the nearest exit. She wasn't worried about herself, but what about the trucker? What had she almost done? She reversed her direction and started driving towards home, solemn. If she didn't have something to fill up the hours, there was no telling what she might do.

That's why the next morning, after miraculously waking up in her own bed with nothing but a throbbing, burnt arm, Amanda got in her car and started driving to the station. She had spent a good thirty minutes on makeup to make herself less ghostly looking, painting some color on her cheeks with blush, hiding the circles under her eyes as best she could with foundation. She made sure that she wore a long- sleeved thermal shirt to cover the blisters, donning a tan blazer overtop paired with a pair of ironed jeans. It was the best she could do in pretending to put herself back together again.

Olivia, she knew, wasn't going to like this, she thought as she headed into the squad room. She had told her to take the rest of the week off. But Amanda _needed _work like she had never needed anything else before.

It was awkward, to say the least, when the whole squad turned to stare at her. She kept her eyes on Olivia's office. She had to explain what was going on to her sergeant before she was caught off guard at Amanda's arrival and got really pissed.

Olivia looked up from her desk when Amanda knocked on the door frame.

"Rollins," she said in surprise, eyebrows raising. Amanda winced that they had gone back to last names. She should have known.

"Hey…Serge. I know you told me to take a couple of days. But I am feeling better and was wondering…"

"Shut the door," Olivia instructed, not unkindly, but her voice was firm.

Amanda closed the door behind them. She glared straight at her sergeant, inviting a challenge. Let Liv try and tell her she wasn't okay.

Before Amanda could lash out, though, Olivia disarmed her. "You still look tired, Amanda. You had a rough morning yesterday. Tell me right now, and be honest with me and be honest with yourself. Do you really think that you're ready to go out there and work cases today?"

Amanda broke eye contact, then, swallowing hard. She would have been furious if it hadn't been for that damn compassionate gaze and the burst of relief in her chest that Olivia called her "Amanda." And for the fact that her words were so true. Honestly…no, she wasn't ready to work cases. How could she interrogate a rapist when she couldn't be alone with a man right now? How could she help a victim if she couldn't even help herself?

"Desk duty!" Amanda blurted out, the idea coming to her in a rush. "I could do desk duty. If that's okay, Serge." Olivia looked at her quizzically. "I just…look, Olivia, I really need to work. I need to keep busy. It's really important," she pleaded.

A slow smile broke out on Olivia's face; she chuckled. "I've never had anyone _volunteer _desk duty before."

"Nick, for one, would have a conniption," Amanda said with a shaky laugh. Olivia nodded her agreement, than studied Amanda. "Okay then," she said. "Desk duty it is. Until you get on your feet."

"Until I get on my feet," Amanda agreed, looking away.

* * *

Desk duty was a bit embarrassing, but it was better than being alone, Amanda discovered. She spent the morning reviewing police reports, filing papers, and spending time on the phone with the DA's office, but the hours went by smoothly; the noise and constant bustle in the squad room kept her thoughts focused on things other than memories and nightmares. Then, at lunch, Fin took a noonday break from the case he was working to share a sandwich with her, a meatball sub with gooey mozzarella and marinara sauce from Santoni's Sub Shop down on the corner (one of Amanda's more substantial meals in days.) Between "mmms" and groans of pleasure and delicious mouthfuls, they joked and chitchatted with one another just like always, Fin recounting the antics at the local cop bar last night, Amanda venting and chuckling about how many times Frannie had gotten into the trash the past couple of weeks. "Haven't been out of the apartment much, so that's all the excitement I got," she admitted. Fin's face turned solemn. "How are you, Manda?" he said, blotting his chin with a napkin. Amanda forced herself to look her partner right in his eyes. "Fine," she said.

"You know, if you ever need anything, I've got your back," Fin had said, so sweet and serious, and to emphasize, he'd placed a hand between her shoulder blades.

Amanda jerked violently, her elbow knocking over the soda on her desk, sending ice cubes clattering and Coca-Cola splashing. She helplessly watched the liquid seep towards piles of paperwork and police reports.

"Hey, girl, I'm sorry. Shit, I'm so sorry," Fin apologized, grabbing wads of napkins and pressing them to the wood of the desk to soak up the soda. "I wasn't thinking," he said. "I should'nta done that."

"You didn't _do_ anything, Fin," Amanda said, trying to catch her breath. "I'm…I'm gonna run to the restroom."

In the bathroom, Amanda locked the door behind her and stared at herself in the mirror. Haunted blue eyes, strands of blonde hair hanging pathetically in her face, trembling lips. She _hated _what she saw and resisted the urge to smash her forehead against the glass. "Get your shit together," she snarled at her reflection. She turned on the sink, splashed some cold water on her face. Itching at the scabs on her arms under her jacket, she headed back out to her desk with her eyes to the floor.

No one really approached or bothered Amanda for the rest of the day. Nick had been especially cold to her, offering up a brief, "How are you?" in between his time in and out of the station. She couldn't really blame him, considering how she had treated him lately, pushing him away, provoking him in bars. Carisi tried to chat her up at one point and blurted out the story about Nick's Dad, and Amanda felt guilty that she had been so oblivious. Neither one of them had really been there for each other. It told her something about the state of their relationship, or lack thereof.

When six o'clock rolled around, a conscientious Fin stopped by her desk and asked her if she wanted to go to Looney's with him for a drink or two—it was one of their favorite hangouts, a local police bar known for its Irish beers and brews. "We could talk," he said. But Amanda was too embarrassed, too shaken, from how she had reacted towards her partner earlier. Besides, she was afraid to drink with coworkers at this point—the ways things were going lately, one beer would turn into ten and poor Fin would end up having to carry her back to her apartment. So she shook her head. "Thanks, Fin," she muttered. "But I've got to get to a meeting tonight."

Amanda lingered at her desk after everyone else had cleared out except Olivia, who was in her office typing up reports at her computer. Amanda attempted to concentrate on the staccato beat of the keys, trying to follow the sound as she skimmed the files of the latest case Olivia had passed to her, a pretty straightforward domestic violence incident where the suspect was unquestionably the husband. Amanda paged through photographic evidence cataloguing the victim's many bruises, contusions, and broken bones, skin mottled black, blue, red, and green from where her spouse had taken a hammer to her. She was strangely detached from her emotions as she glanced through the injuries on this woman she had yet to meet, named Alexia. It was something that happened to the detective sometimes lately. She'd feel like she was floating, unanchored to the earth or even her own body. Sometimes, there'd be a buzzing in her ears.

"Amanda?" Amanda lifted her head, not even realizing that the typing had stopped and that Olivia had turned the lights off in her office, buttoned up her coat, and grabbed her purse. She had somehow lost time. "What are you still doing here?" her sergeant asked her softly. "Go home."

"Yeah…I'm heading out soon, Serge," Amanda said, flipping her hair out of her face, trying to clear her mind. "I've got somewhere to be at eight 'o clock and just thought I'd hang around till then, get a head start on that case you assigned."

"Remember, you're supposed to be getting some rest, Rollins." Olivia admonished gently. She cocked her head to the side to study Amanda. "Are you sure you're alright? Sure you don't want a couple more days off? You look…worn out."

"I'm fine, really," Amanda said in a rush. "I'd just rather be at work than at home right now." Her face turned hot at the admission.

"Okay," Olivia said succinctly, not skipping a beat or making Amanda feel any more uncomfortable. "Well," she said, looking at her watch. "It's long time I got home to Noah. The sitter stayed late as usual." Amanda nodded and watched as Olivia headed toward the door. She stopped midstride, turned back around to face her detective. "You have my number, Rollins," she said. "I know I'm probably the last person on your list of people to call, but if you ever need someone to talk to….you know how to get in touch with me. Alright?"

Amanda swallowed hard, feeling tears prick the back of her throat. "Copy that, Serge," she said.

* * *

At the meeting that night, Amanda tried to soak up every comment, every affirmation, every word of the serenity prayer. She needed to piece together the strength to stay clean. She still had $500 dollars that she had hid under the mattress at home and enough gas in her car to take her not only to the gambling dives across town, but clear back up to Atlantic City if she wanted. This time, she may not be able to turn around or take control of the wheel.

The topic of the evening was on maintaining a "support system." Their group leader, Angie, a curly redhead in her forties who had been sober from gambling for thirteen years, told them the story of her best friend Erica. "Erica was there for me through it all, when I was over sixty thousand dollars in debt and ready to pawn my wedding ring for money," she said. "When I couldn't leave the house, afraid I'd head right to the casino, she'd drag me out and force me to go to a restaurant, the movies. Anything to take my mind off of placing more bets," she said. "That girl was there for me when my husband left me, when I lost my children. She held me when I broke down and cried, finally admitted I had a problem. I was crying so hard I couldn't stand, and she literally lifted me up off the floor. She's been lifting me up ever since… when I get urges, when I have a bad day."

Amanda listened thoughtfully, wondering what it would be like to have a best girlfriend. She had never really gotten along too well with women. Having been a bit of a tom boy as a child and teenager back in Loganville, Georgia, most of her friends and acquaintances had been male. The same in adulthood, after she had joined the police force and the "Good Old Boys club" in Atlanta. She had always tried to fill up her life with men, with brief flings and forced bouts of mostly bad sex. Her sister, Kim, had been that one invaluable female presence; they had always been that for each other, what with their mother off popping prescription pills and wanting little to do with having daughters. Now, though, Kim was gone.

They went around in a circle, each brainstorming about how they could utilize and increase their network of support, how they could surround themselves with people that would help them feel more resilient in the face of urges. Tonight, when it came to be Amanda's turn to speak, she chose her words carefully and kept them brief. "I don't have much of a support system," she said simply. Angie looked at her and raised her eyebrows, waiting for more. Amanda cleared her throat. "I guess…I oughta work on building one back up."

"Let's put it this way, Amanda," said Angie. "It's quality, not quantity. It just takes reaching out to that one right person. Think about all the people in your life. Choose someone strong, someone kind, and make a connection."

* * *

Amanda yawned and popped into Starbucks at quarter of eight the next morning, feeling grateful. She had actually slept that night, with only the occasional dream where she had woken up shaking and sweating. The meeting had kept her in the house and away from the alcohol and cigarettes. It had kept her thinking, too, so that she was still pondering the theme of the night this morning. Two women in front of her in line laughed and chatted. They had their arms linked. "Support system," Amanda whispered under her breath.

When it was her turn at the counter, she ordered actual coffee instead of a chai latte, A Venti Macchiato with extra espresso shots—sleep or not, she would still need caffeine to hide her exhaustion at work today. As the cashier turned around to take her order to the barista, she blurted out, "And a Venti Mocha with two shots."

* * *

Amanda was too shy to hand Olivia her coffee in person, so she left it on the corner of her desk instead, quickly creeping in and out of her office so as to not disturb anything. It was a rare occasion that she was at the station before her sergeant, and it felt weird seeing the blinds drawn and the office dark. Amanda got right back to paperwork and tried to ignore the antsy feeling in the pit of her stomach, tried to pretend like she wasn't waiting for Liv.

Fin strolled in yawning after his night out at Looney's, smiled and said hi. Nick followed soon after and gave a nod and a curt "Morning." Then came Carisi. The phone rang and Amanda took the call, alerting her co-officers that they had a flasher in Central Park. Fin took off to handle things.

Olivia finally burst in the door at eight thirty, looking flustered from more than the cold outside. "Hey, everyone, sorry. I needed to find someone to watch Noah because the sitter is sick. What have we got?" she said, getting down to business. Amanda watched her features re-frame from a look of preoccupation to brusque professionalism. She filled her sergeant in on the alleged flashing, explained that Fin was bringing in the suspect. Olivia nodded and headed towards her office. Amanda made a show of shuffling more papers, keeping her eyes averted. She listened to the sounds of her sergeant getting settled.

"Hey, Nick," Olivia called, sticking her head out the door. "Thanks for the coffee. I could use it this morning."

Nick looked up from his laptop screen, puzzled. "I didn't get you any coffee."

"Well, someone did," Olivia said, looking surprised. She scanned the room, perplexed.

"Uh…that was me, Serge," Amanda finally choked out, raising her hand like she was in school. She blushed profusely. "I just thought—I'd say thank you, you know? For coming with me the other day?" She said, referring to her appointment at Dr. Lindstrom's. "So…thanks."

A slow smile spread over Olivia's face. "Thank _you_," she said, tipping the coffee to Amanda. "That was very thoughtful. Actually, Rollins, can you step in my office for a minute? I want to brief you on some tasks for today."

Amanda got up out of her chair and stepped into the privacy of Olivia's office. "A mocha with double shots," Olivia said, sipping the cup of coffee. "You know my drink."

"Yeah," Amanda said, shrugging.

"Before we get to the case, how are you? You look better this morning."

"I'm okay," Amanda said. "But I'm assuming I'm sticking with desk duty a little while longer?"

Olivia nodded., "For the most part, yes. Especially while you're getting settled with therapy." Amanda struggled not to squirm. The scabs on her arms suddenly itched. "But, I could use an extra detective to interview a vic a little bit later. This girl's pretty skittish around men, and I really need another female officer there to take her statement."

As nervous as she was about throwing herself out into the field, Amanda found herself nodding, eager to please, to appear put together. "Yeah, sure, Serge. I think I could do that," she said, turning to head back to her desk.

"Rollins…thanks again for the coffee," Olivia called on her way out the door.

"Amanda," the blonde detective blurted out before she could stop herself. She turned around bashfully. "You can call me Amanda," she said to her sergeant. "I mean…"

Olivia smiled again. "Sorry, Amanda, old habit," she said. "Of course I can call you by your first name."

Amanda met Olivia's eyes. "And just so you know…you're not the last person I would call," she said, then quickly turned and walked back to her desk.


	4. Chapter 4

A/N: Sorry for the delay in updating, everyone. Hope you enjoy this chapter.

**C****hapter 4**

The interview that day took them to the infamous Hudson University Campus, where a freshman had been allegedly assaulted during Greek Week at a frat party. The victim, named Jewel, had returned to her dorm room two nights ago sobbing, her blouse unbuttoned and her lip bitten and bloody, and eventually admitted to her concerned roommate that she had been assaulted, who had promptly called the police. But that night, when Olivia attempted to talk to the young woman (girl, really, she had just turned eighteen), she refused to give the sergeant any of the details. It had taken Olivia hours of patient persuading to even get her to go to the emergency room for a rape kit, where they had found vaginal tearing and semen. No traces of drugs or alcohol in Jewel's system. Olivia would have stayed longer in the hospital and persisted in taking the young woman's statement had Jewel not started shrieking and throwing punches when a male nurse put his fingers on her wrist to check her pulse. She had become so hysterical that they had to sedate her, so Olivia had left to give her some rest. As far as suspects, all that Olivia had to go on was that she had been attacked by some "drunk frat boy she didn't know with brown hair." Since the young woman's release from the hospital, she had repeatedly rebuffed Liv's attempts to question her. Jewel was adamant that she didn't know anything else, that they drop the case, that she didn't want to press charges. She refused to say why.

"Things get really dicey when you interview the roommate," Olivia commented as she and Amanda walked across the frost-covered quad on campus in the direction of Jewel's dormitory. "She says that Jewel is quiet, shy. She's obsessed with studying and grades. Not a member of a sorority, skittish around boys, barely goes out with friends. It doesn't make sense that she'd be anywhere near a frat party."

"Yeah—things just don't seem to add up," Amanda replied, vigorously going over what Olivia had shared with her about the case so far. There were eight fraternities spread out around on campus; finding one boy who had brown hair was not going to be an easy task. Jewel refused to say which frat house she had ventured to or where the party was held. As of now, they didn't have much of anything to go on. The case was riding on getting a coherent, detailed, and truthful statement today. Amanda's fingernails cut into her palms from where her hands were balled into nervous fists. Olivia—and Jewel- were counting on her to do her best work during this interview.

When they knocked and opened up the door to the victim's dorm room, they found her sitting curled up and cross-legged on the tiled floor, head hung low as she bent over an open textbook on her lap. A curtain of long, plain brown hair hid her face. The girl looked wilted, sad. Amanda felt her heart squeeze.

"Hi, Jewel," Olivia said softly. "It's Detective Benson. We're meeting to take your statement today, remember?"

At first, Jewel made no move to look up or even acknowledge either of the two women in the room. Then, she slowly shook her head and mumbled, "I've said everything I wanted to say. I don't know anything else other than what I told you that night. I don't want to give any statement. And I'm behind on my studying. I hate being behind."

Amanda cleared her throat, seeing a possible in. "Jewel…hello. I'm Detective Amanda Rollins. I'll be working with Olivia on your case. Now, I know you've told everything to my Sergeant already, but…I'm just getting back to work after some time off, and I'm feeling a little behind myself. I really want to help, and I want to get caught up. Do you think that you can fill me in on some of the details you gave Olivia, help me get up to speed?"

Jewel lifted her head and peeked up at Detective Rollins; Amanda saw she had large hazel eyes. "Hi," she said softly. "You from down South? My Mom's from Alabama." When Jewel spoke a little louder, Amanda heard the slight twang to her voice.

"Yeah…I'm from Georgia," Amanda said. "You've got a good ear for the accent. So, honey…can you update me on what happened to you the other night?"

Jewel shrugged. "I—I don't have much to say other than what I told her," she said, motioning toward Olivia. "I was a bad student and decided to check out a frat party instead of studying. Some drunk guy assaulted me. Don't know him and I don't remember what he looked like. I was stupid. I don't want to press charges." Her tone was robotic, emotionless. Amanda remembered when her own voice had sounded the same way, when she had recited what Patton did to her with Barba in the court room that day. She paused, momentarily swept away by memory.

"Jewel, regardless of what happened and of what choices you made the night of the attack, you're not to blame for anything," Olivia cut in. "Whoever hurt you is to blame. That person is the_ only_ one responsible, and if you don't speak out now, you'll never get justice for yourself."

"I don't deserve any justice."

'Amanda rapidly spoke up and steered the interview in another direction; the conversation was getting hard to hear. "Honey, hold up there. It's okay. Can you tell us why you feel that way? Why don't we start from the beginning? What happened earlier that day?"

"Earlier that day I had back to back classes," Jewel said. "I take eight. I'm a double major."

"Double major…wow," Amanda said. "I can't even imagine. I tried to take courses at the community college when I was in the police academy, and even that was rough. I'm impressed. What are you majoring in?"

Jewel pursed her lips, clearly assessing Detective Rollins. Amanda could feel Olivia's eyes on her as well. The Sergeant didn't speak; she seemed to be waiting things out, letting her detective steer the questioning.

"Education and History," Jewel answered finally. "I want to be a History Professor."

Amanda smiled. "I was never too good in history. Couldn't remember dates and facts too well."

"It's not so much about just memorizing dates and facts," Jewel said. "History is the story of past events. We learn from the past so that we can change the future," she said.

Amanda was moved by the innocence of Jewel's words. She crouched down next to the young woman and chose what to say next with care.

"That's kind of what Sergeant Benson and I are looking for in a statement, Jewel. We want the story of what happened to you that night, the sequence of events, so we can understand what you went through and prevent something like this from happening to another student on campus in the future," Amanda took a deep breath, ignoring the pounding of her heart. "Because, honey, trust me…someone like this will likely strike again and do the same thing to someone else." _Reese_. The detective flushed with guilt as the name came to her unbidden.

In that moment, tears began sliding down Jewel's cheeks. One plopped onto the page of her open textbook, dampening the paper. "It's okay, sweetie," Olivia murmured. "Just take us through, step by step."

Jewel nodded at Olivia, then looked to Amanda for guidance. "Start from the beginning?" she said.

Amanda swiped away at perspiration gathering on her hairline, trying to recover herself, hoping Olivia and Jewel couldn't see her sweating. "From the beginning," she urged. Her voice was calm, steady, and didn't give away the quaking inside of her.

* * *

Before Amanda knew what was happening, she had a trembling young woman in her arms. As Jewel's tears wet her jacket, she leaned back on her heels to better support the girl. "It's okay," she murmured. "It's okay."

It felt odd to be the one comforting the victim. More often than not, Olivia was the one to offer solace and a shoulder, while Amanda (in her own eyes, at least) just fumbled around with the questioning, sometimes pushing the vic too far, saying too much, other times missing the mark with her inquiries. Her eyes searched out her sergeant for guidance, who patiently watched the interaction with her hands in her pockets.

Jewel's story had started out uneventful enough, as uneventful as college could be for an overworked, overachieving student obsessed with her grades. She had been in classes from eight a.m. to 6:30 p.m. without a break. For her last course of the day, the History of American Politics, she had not gotten around to finishing a twelve page paper worth half her grade.

"So I never got the paper done, and if we don't get papers in on time in that class it's a zero, so after that class ended…." Jewel had broke off then, as if the words had gotten stuck in her throat. Her face had gone chalk white, and she suddenly began speaking in a rushed jumble. "So after class ended I said screw it, I'm sick of studying so hard and still coming up short, so I went to find some place to get a drink and since it's Greek week and a whole bunch of parties are going on, I went to a fraternity and this guy with brown hair took me up to his bedroom and pushed me up against his desk and put his hand under my t-shirt and groped me and touched me and started kissing me, and I didn't say anything, not one word, until finally I whispered 'no,' but at that point it was too late, he was having sex with me," she gasped out in almost the same breath. It was at that point that she had burst into throaty sobs, scooted over to where Amanda had knelt down next to her, and crawled into the blonde detective's open arms.

After about a good five minutes, Jewel pulled away from Amanda, sniffling. "There." she said, her voice toneless. "That's the whole story of events. You have my statement. Are we done now?"

"Jewel…I am so glad you told us," said Olivia carefully. "This a great start. I know it's difficult to remember, but can you give us any more detail? Do you know the name of the fraternity you went to? Any more about what this boy looked like? You said he had brown hair. Was he tall? Short? Do you remember what he was wearing?"

Jewel shook her head vigorously, getting up and moving to the bed. "No. I feel sick. Can I lie down for awhile? Can we finish talking about this later?"

Olivia sighed softly, then nodded. "Of course you can lie down. But Jewel…in order to get this guy, we're going to need to go through your story again. Detective Rollins and I will be back tomorrow to walk around campus with you. We'll stop by to scope out the different frat houses to see if you can identify the location where the assault took place."

"It was dark out, late at night, and I was stressed," Jewel mumbled. "I won't remember where I went."

"We'll want to do a sort of walkthrough of that night," Olivia continued, undeterred. "It's not all that uncommon for victims of a sexual assault to have a sort of amnesia surrounding the attack due to the trauma of the event , but when you re-trace what you did right before the assault, step by step, you'll be surprised at what comes back."

Jewel slid under the covers of her twin bed and pulled them up to her chin. "He won't do this to someone else. I walked right into it. Please…can't we just drop this?" she begged. Her eyes sought out Amanda.

"You've come so far, honey," Amanda said gently. "It's really important for us to follow up with this." Yet even as she said the words, a large part of Amanda identified with Jewel's plea. She knew how painful it was to relive a rape, to regain all the nuances of a night you'd rather not remember.

* * *

Olivia began going over the interview with Jewel as soon as they were outside of the dormitory, suggesting that they stake out the fraternities now and maybe interview some of the young men there to see if any of them had remembered seeing Jewel. Amanda tried to listen, but there was that strange buzzing in her ears again. She could barely feel her footing as they crunched through the frozen grass; it was as if her legs belonged to someone else. She was thinking about the first "no" she had said to Patton. Like Jewel, her initial protest had been but a whisper, two choked, inaudible letters of regret.

"Amanda? You okay?" Olivia asked, placing a hand to her arm to bring the detective to a gentle stop. "You look really shaky."

"Yeah…um…I'm a bit lightheaded," Amanda admitted. "Probably just had too much caffeine," she said by way of excuse. Unconsciously, she grasped back at Olivia to steady herself.

"Maybe we should take a break, discuss the case more over lunch," Olivia suggested. "It doesn't seem like you've been eating well."

Amanda shrugged. Liv was right. Meals lately had been nibbled cheese and crackers, the occasional can of soup, or more often then not, straight shots of liquor on an empty stomach. "Lunch sounds good."

"It's on me," Olivia said with a smile.

* * *

They hit a little soup and sandwich carryout shop named Skippy's with a few booths for dining about ten minutes from the University. Amanda got chicken salad on white toast, while Olivia sipped more coffee and had a BLT. It felt surreal to be sharing lunch with her Sergeant. At first, both women just ate quietly, neither saying much.

"I'm sorry I couldn't get much out of Jewel today in the interview," Amanda finally blurted out, breaking the silence. "It seems like she was going to open up to me, but I couldn't quite get a solid statement."

"Don't apologize, Amanda," Olivia said. "Sometimes it takes the victim awhile to come to terms with what happened or to disclose all the details. You handled the questioning well, and did and said all the right things."

"Guess I'm just worried about being off my game, having just come back to work after everything that happened," Amanda said, fiddling with her napkin.

"About that…how are you feeling about sticking with this case? I want to ease you back out into the field, but you really had a way with the vic today. I think that she trusts you."

"I did okay with her, I guess," Amanda said. "You're good with the victims, not me."

Olivia shook her head and smiled. "You have a hard time accepting compliments, don't you?"

Amanda sipped her iced tea instead of answering. "All I am saying, is that you'r_e great_," she finally said. She could feel her cheeks heating. "I mean, you really know how to reach out to vics. It's like nothing I've ever seen before."

Olivia nodded thoughtfully. "It's something that's always come naturally to me, understanding people in crisis," she said. "Having helped victims for so long and having been one myself, I can relate on another level, I guess."

_Sealview. Lewis._ Amanda was blown away at how effortlessly Olivia could reference the trauma of her past, as just a passing comment in conversation. She could only hope to one day be as strong as her Sergeant.

"I'd love to work with you on this case, Serge," she murmured. "I'm not ready to give up on Jewel yet."

"Neither am I," Olivia agreed. "I'm thinking dessert and we can go over the facts we have so far, take apart her statement. I'm gonna grab some of that chocolate cream pie they had at the counter. You want a slice?"

Amanda smiled. "I never say no to chocolate".

* * *

Some things about Jewel's story, they decided between mouthfuls of pie, made sense. For instance, the bruising found on her lower back during the examination at the hospital would have been consistent with having been pushed up against the corner of the desk. Her tears, her panicked reaction, her fear of men, the physical evidence all pointed to assault. Other things about the statement, though, didn't seem as plausible. For one thing, Jewel had told them that she had gone to the frat party to "get a drink," but there had been not a trace of alcohol in her system. The major gaps in Jewel's memory were also suspect. Of course, the extreme stress of an assault could cause a person to block out aspects of an event, but in Jewel's case, the missing details seemed more a reluctance to disclose than simple trauma-related amnesia. "She blurted out the story of the assault so quickly, parts of it almost seemed rehearsed," Amanda recalled.

"There's also the reluctance to press charges," Olivia said. "There could be a lot of reasons for that, of course. Fear. Shame. Guilt. But it could be something else, as well."

Jewel's words of conviction came to Amanda then-_He won't do this to someone else. _Do you think she actually knows her attacker?" she asked. "Maybe she's protecting someone."

"It's a possibility," Olivia said. It wouldn't be the first time that a victim had made a false statement out of fear, regret, conflicted feelings. "A boyfriend, maybe? A classmate?"

Amanda thought for a moment. "Maybe…she seems so shy, though. And she's so into her studying, it doesn't seem like she'd have time for boyfriends."

Olivia nodded as she took her last bite of dessert. "I don't know, at this point, how far we'll get with Jewel tomorrow," she said. "She might not be ready to confide in us, but maybe she talked to another student or a teacher about where she was headed that night. We can talk with some of her other classmates, maybe a Professor—I think we should contact people from the last class she attended that day." She studied Amanda. "You feeling better, now that you got some food in you? Ready to head back to Hudson for some more questioning?"

"Absolutely," Amanda said, trying to muster her confidence. _You can still do this, _she told herself. _You can crack the case, help the vic, hold a gun. _As she and Olivia put their coats on to brace for the cold, and she could feel the linoleum tiles solid under her feet, she almost believed it.


	5. Chapter 5

A/N: Hope you all enjoy Chapter 5!

**Chapter 5**

After arriving back on campus, Olivia and Amanda pulled the roster for Jewel's last class on the day the assault took place and were glad to see only twenty names on the list—not only would they have just a few interviews to conduct, but a more intimate classroom atmosphere meant that Jewel may have mentioned her plans for the evening to at least one other student. She and Olivia split the list of names evenly, ten and ten, and went to work tracking down each of the college kids in that 5:00 p.m. History of American Politics class, each determined to obtain more facts that would help them piece together the events of that night. But as Amanda traversed campus, tracking down the elusive whereabouts of student after student, hopping from the dining hall to the library to the dormitories, pulling peeved kids out of class for a brief interview, she learned the same unhelpful information—Jewel was shy and obsessed with her studies. She had few friends and barely talked to anyone. They had no idea what she might have been up to after class that day.

"Oh God…something happened to Jewel Matthews? That's awful," one boy, Jerome Waters, told Amanda in an empty study alcove in the library. She had found him on the computer, hastily banging out a last minute paper for his next course. He had been irritated when Amanda had insisted on questioning him in private, but his scowl had twisted into a look of regret when she had told him that the police were investigating an assault. "I feel terrible for the way we all treated her."

"What do you mean?" Amanda asked.

"Well, me and a few other people in the class thought that she was kinda obnoxious. She's one of those students who raises her hand constantly in class, keeps the professor talking late after we're supposed to let out for the night. She's got zero social skills other than talking about history, but Professor Mackey adores her, thinks she some political genius. It can be kinda sickening. Me and one of my brothers—he's also a History major-said that we wished we could make her 'shut the fuck up' after class the other night," he admitted, whispering the last part of the sentence. He scuffed his shoe on the berber carpet. "I think she heard us."

"Your 'brother'? Amanda questioned. "As in, fraternity brother?"

"Yeah," Jerome answered. "I'm in Phi Beta. I pledged as a freshman."

"And, what's your friend's name?" Amanda asked, consulting the class roster. "My Sergeant and I will need to question him, see what he knows."

"Tony Bronson." Jerome looked into the detective's eyes. His voice turned defensive. "He won't know anything. It was Greek Week; we had a party to prep for. He was busy the whole night."

"We're interviewing everyone from the class," Amanda replied, keeping her voice even. "Do you know where Tony might be at?"

Jerome didn't answer for a few moments. He put his hands in his pockets. "He'll be at the Phi Beta house, most likely. He's got a free period."

"Thanks for your time," Amanda said. She turned and walked back through the maze of book shelves on the way out of the library, the smell of musty books collecting dust making her feel a bit lightheaded again. She had been going at the questioning for only three hours and was already tired, but now was not the time to quit. Tony Bronson was the last name on her list, and there was an inkling in her gut.

* * *

The Phi Beta frat house was in a state of general disrepair, a far cry from some of the fancier Victorians of Greek Life located around other areas of campus. Amanda found herself in front of an older two-story house with chipped white siding and a sagging porch. Stray beer cans littered the grass; the detective had to sidestep an overturned trash can spilling crushed Budweiser containers and other miscellaneous waste that the college kids had neglected to pick up. A fly buzzed and landed on the top of an old pizza box containing bits of leftover crust. Amanda wrinkled her nose in disgust. Hudson University authorities seemed to care as much about their students' sloppiness and underage drinking as they did about the numerous sexual assaults that repeatedly occurred on campus-in SVU's experience with Hudson, administration were rarely cooperative and often attempted to conceal rapes rather than seek out justice for the victims. (In fact, she and Olivia had received some pushback when they had communicated their intent to interview other classmates that knew Jewel, feeling that police presence was disruptive to students' schedules and to the campus "image").

As Amanda ascended the stairs towards the front door to the frat house, listening to a rowdy chorus of male voices inside, she wondered whether she should call Liv for backup while she questioned Tony Bronson, especially since she might have a lead on the case, however tenuous. But a stubborn determination kept her from contacting her sergeant. Tony Bronson was an interviewee on _her _list. She could do her job. She was _competent._

Still, her knock on the door was weak, and she had to rap several times before a tall, blonde boy in knee length athletic shorts and a T-shirt answered the door. "Hey…can I help you?" He said with a slur. He gave her a wide, dazed smile.

Amanda plunged her hand into her coat pocket and pulled out her badge. "I'm detective Amanda Rollins with Manhatten SVU," she said. "I'm looking for a Tony Bronson. I need to ask him a few questions related to an incident that happened to a student here on campus."

The boy's goofy and most likely drunken grin immediately disappeared. "Um…hold on a minute," he stammered, letting the door swing shut in the detective's face. Annoyance trumping her anxiety, Amanda pounded on the door this time, listening to the sounds of thudding feet and clanking bottles until the boy finally reappeared again. "Sorry, come in…" he mumbled, motioning through the now open entranceway. Amanda walked inside and peered into the common area to see five or six barefooted boys lounging on plaid couches around a TV set. The neck of a glass vodka bottle peeked out from under one of the chairs.

"Subtle," Amanda said, raising her eyebrows at the young men giving her wary glares. "Listen, y'all, I'm not here about your drinking, even if most of you probably are underage. I'm here about a sexual assault that took place on campus," she announced to the room. "Which one of you is Tony Bronson?"

"He's upstairs, in his bedroom. I think he's napping," the blonde boy who had answered the door finally replied. "Maybe you want to come back?"

"No, I'd like to speak with him now," Amanda said, making her voice firm. "Can you show me to his room?"

Reluctantly, the boy led her up a set of creaking stairs to a door on the left. "Yo, Tony?" he yelled, knocking. "Dude, you better open up. The police are here."

Seconds later, a muscular young man wearing only boxers emerged from a cluttered bedroom with clothing strewn about the floor. Amanda glanced through the doorway and noticed the oversized desk up against the curtain-less window. It took up most of the room and had pronounced edges.

Heartbeat quickening , Amanda made contact with a pair of steely gray eyes. She saw them travel up and down the length of her body. "Hey," the boy said. "You're a police officer?"

"Yes, I'm Detective Amanda Rollins, and I have a few questions for you concerning an alleged sexual assault." Amanda said. "Why don't you get yourself dressed so we can talk."

"Nah," Tony Bronson said. "I'm good how I am." He winked brazenly at Amanda, and she tried to conceal a shudder. "Come on in."

Amanda forced herself into his bedroom. Her heart started to really thud when the nearly naked Tony Bronson moved to shut the door. "Leave that open," she tried to command, but her voice quavered. Tony threw up his hands in mock surrender. "Alright, _detective._ I'mnot touching the door. Now, what's this about an assault, and what the hell's that got to do with me?" In spite of the distance between them, Amanda could smell the beer on his breath.

"Jewel Matthews," Amanda said. "She's a classmate of yours in your History of American Politics class? She reported being sexually assaulted at a fraternity party after that class let out two nights ago."

"No…Jewel? That nerdy bitch who won't shut the fuck up in class? Somebody tapped her?" He laughed.

Anger flared up in Amanda. "You think rape is funny?" she snapped, raising her voice.

Tony Bronson put a hand over his mouth as if trying to rub away the smirk. He shrugged. "Not particularly," he said. It seemed like he was struggling to keep his tone neutral. "If somebody gets off on that, whatever. I've got nothing to do with Jewel Matthews."

"You were in her last class immediately before the assault took place, and you also happen to be in a fraternity," Amanda said coolly. "I also have on record that you were antagonistic towards Jewel at the end of that class period."

"The girl gets on my nerves. I might have bitched about her after class, but that's it. She's not my type. I go for the blondes." He looked meaningfully at Amanda and advanced towards her, narrowing the personal space between them.

Suddenly Amanda saw Chief Deputy Patton. He was coming at her, undoing his button down shirt, pushing her further into the motel room towards the bed. She remembered she had a weapon and her hand flew to the gun holstered at her hip.

"What the fuck?" The yell cut through the house, and Patton's wrinkled face turned into Tony Bronson's. This time, the boy threw his hands up in the air for real. He was close enough to Amanda that she could vividly see his curly, dark tufts of underarm hair. She was reminded of the patch of hair on Patton's chest as he had thrust up and down inside of her. "You gonna fucking shoot me?" Bronson said, his voice high-pitched, quavering. "I thought you were pretty, that's all."

"You—you advanced on a police officer," Amanda gasped out. "I'll be back to question you when you're sober." Hastily, she rushed past him and thundered down the steps, no longer seeing the inside of the house or feeling the floorboards beneath her feet.

* * *

Amanda ran, jogged, then powerwalked breathlessly past rows of dormitories toward the main quad, where Olivia had texted her to meet up. She saw her Sergeant standing on the sidewalk by one of the senior apartment complexes facing the expanse of green and resisted the urge to run to her. It was a primal urge, one she remembered feeling when she would tearfully dart to her mother with skinned knees or bleeding elbows as a little girl, only to be turned away. Ashamed, she forced herself to walk slowly to Liv, hiding her fear, glad that no one could hear her hammering heart.

"Hey," Olivia called out as she saw Amanda approaching out of the shadows. The sun had fallen behind the trees fringing campus; it was past five-thirty. "How'd the interviews go? You ready to compare notes?" When she got a closer look at Amanda from the lamplight overhead, she frowned. "You okay? You look exhausted."

"Fine," Amanda choked out. "I might have a lead." She somehow forced out the story of a drunken Tony Bronson, mentioning the giant desk in the room with edges that would have bruised Jewel's back, his careless remarks about her rape, his advances. She deliberately left out the part about reaching for her gun.

"This boy came at you?" Olivia said, her brow furrowed. "Are you sure you're alright, Amanda?"

She gave a jerky nod. "I'm fine, Serge."

Olivia studied her silently for a few minutes. "I think that you've had enough for the day," she said. "It's after five, time to eat, and my replacement sitter can't stay past six o'clock so I've got to get home to Noah anyway. We'll try to re-interview Tony Bronson tomorrow, but together this time. Did you get through the rest of the questioning?"

"I only have the class Professor, William Mackey, left to question," Amanda said. If those boys were teasing or harassing Jewel, or maybe followed her from class, he might have observed something."

Olivia nodded in agreement as the two walked back towards the parking lot. When they reached their cars, Olivia turned toward her detective. "You did well today, Amanda," Olivia said. Amanda made to correct her; but the rebuttal got stuck in her throat.

* * *

At home that night, Amanda's trembling fingers hovered over the "send" button on her cell phone. Face awash with tears, she had changed the contact in her phone from "Sergeant Benson" to "Olivia." But she seem couldn't muster that one light touch of the screen that would dial Liv's number and connect them. How could she tell Liv? How could she explain how she couldn't be alone in this apartment without the urge to drink or gamble? How she had thrown away the therapist's card? How could she explain how Bronson had become Patton, and she had reached for her gun? Olivia would have no choice but to _take her gun away from her_. She would be put on leave, forced to stop working, be left alone in her apartment with no one and nothing but the nightmares.

Amanda let the phone fall from her hands. She stared at them in hatred. Those hands had touched Patton, thrown dice at a casino, and nearly crashed her car into an innocent truck driver. They might have pulled a trigger and shot an unarmed suspect today, a boy, had she not stopped herself. She hated those hands.

Automatically, she went for the cigarettes, which she now kept in the kitchen cabinet. Frannie, lying on the carpet, looked up at her and whimpered, as if knowing her intent. She lit a Marlboro right there in the kitchen and methodically burned each knuckle on each hand, numbed by the sound of her sizzling flesh.

That night, she dreamed that she was on the bed back in the motel room and Patton was thrusting inside her, again and again, while she tried to scream "No" or "Stop," but no words would come out. Minutes turned to hours and still he grinded and thrust and crushed her under his weight. She could feel the pain between her legs and the ache in her hips all over again. It was an endless, throbbing pain, the rape on endless replay. Amanda woke up drenched in sweat, her body paralyzed. It was as if she could still feel Patton's body pinning hers to the bed. She only snapped out of it when Frannie barked and licked her bare foot. Then, she thrashed and bolted up on the mattress. Sitting there, shivering, her whole body went cold with dread. If that dream were to ever come back, she didn't think she could survive it again.

Somehow, she made it out of bed, checking the clock—a half hour to get to work on time. She and Olivia were heading right back to Hudson. Hurriedly, she rushed to get dressed, throwing on black slacks and a blue sweater. Makeup was a must; she had to get herself together. Her face was as chalky as Jewel's had been the previous day when she had recounted her assault. Last, she bandaged her hands with gauze, hiding her blistered knuckles, and the lingering scars on her palms, with a curious mix of both shame and detachment. Still in a fog, she arrived at work twenty minutes later coffee-less, forgetting her usual Starbucks trip.

Liv was already in her office and immediately got up from her desk when she saw Amanda. "Glad you're here, Amanda. Let's head to Hudson and interview Professor Mackey together. Then, we can meet Jewel and prep her for the walkthrough around campus, maybe mention Bronson's name and see if we can get a reaction or if we can pry any information from her. We'll save questioning Bronson till later in the day, after he's completely sobered up from yesterday."

Amanda nodded wordlessly and reached for the coffee pot, and Olivia, unavoidably, saw her hands. "Amanda…my God, what did you do? How did you hurt both your hands?"

She had her excuse ready. Clearing her throat, not making eye contact with Liv, she lied without missing a beat. "You're not gonna believe my clumsiness, Serge. I slipped on an ice patch walking Frannie and landed face down, gouged both my hands breaking my fall."

Olivia cocked her head in concern. "Ouch," she said, wincing in sympathy. "You sure you're alright?"

"Yeah, just scraped up. No big thing." She could feel Olivia's eyes on her as she poured herself the coffee; she couldn't help her damn hands from shaking a bit and some liquid sloshed onto the end table.

"Easy," Olivia soothed. She lay a hand on Amanda's forearm, reached out, took the coffee pot for her, and poured the rest of the cup for Amanda. For some reason, the gesture almost brought tears to Amanda's eyes. Her throat smarted, and she sipped from the mug to keep her lips from trembling.

"Amanda…" Olivia began. "Can you step in my office for a second?"

Amanda looked warily at Olivia. "Why?"

"I just want to talk to you."

Amanda wished, as she had for weeks and weeks now, that there was some way to slow her heart down as she followed Olivia into her office. _She knows_, she thought, beginning to panic. _She knows everything._

After the door was shut, Olivia asked, "Are you _sure_ you want to keep working this case, Amanda? You did well yesterday, like I said. It's not about your work at all. It's just that originally, we were planning on desk duty for awhile, and I feel like maybe I threw you into this case because I was feeling short-staffed. Which would be unfair of me. If you fell this morning, maybe you were feeling run down. I could get Fin or Nick to come with me to Hudson…"

Amanda suppressed a tremendous sigh of relief. For now, her sergeant was choosing to believe her story about the ice and her hands. She immediately protested Olivia's suggestion about the case, though. If she couldn't prove herself, if she couldn't get her shit together to help the victim this time, she feared she would never succeed at a case again. "Olivia, I want to be on this case," she argued. "Like you said yesterday, I think Jewel trusts me. I can't turn my back on her now."

"Okay," Olivia said hesitantly. "But if you're ever feeling overwhelmed, I really want you to tell me."

"Yes, Serge," Amanda said, making another promise she doubted she could keep.


	6. Chapter 6

**A/N: Thanks so much for the reviews, everyone. I am posting two chapters tonight: had an unexpected snow day and time to write :) **

**Chapter 6**

Amanda unconsciously leaned in towards Olivia as they walked across campus about an hour later, drawn to her Sergeant's strength, and warmth, as a light snow fell from the sky, dusting the two women's hair and shoulders and frosting the grass. She was glad that the plan for the day had her and Olivia in this together—with her bandaged hands and shaken confidence, and yesterday's flashbacks and failures, Amanda felt weakened. It would take all her efforts to work this case, and she couldn't imagine getting through the day's events alone.

"Noah's sitter still sick?" Amanda asked to disrupt the quiet and her thoughts.

Olivia let out a sigh, her puff of breath visible in the cold. "Yeah. I'm just hoping it's a quick bug and not the flu. Lucy's back-up sitter, she can't work late, which really puts me in a bind with my hours. Plus…well, I have a certain comfort level with Lucy; I've come to trust her with Noah. I'm sure her backup is great—she seems responsible enough. It's just that…."

"He's your son," Amanda finished for her.

A smile broke across Olivia's lips. "I still can't get used to hearing that-that I have a son. Some days I can't believe he's mine."

"He's precious," Amanda agreed. "I'm glad you have him, Liv." In her life, she had only ever been caregiver to Kim. As kids, she had been the one to hold Kim's hand and walk her into the classroom on the first day of kindergarten. She had poured Kim her favorite cereal for breakfast in the morning when her mother was passed out on Vicodin and her father off betting on races, helped her comb her hair and reminded her to brush her teeth, read her a bedtime story at night. Later, when they were older and Kim's impulsive binges began—the drinking, the drugs, the stealing- Amanda had given her money, time, and energy to bail her sister out of trouble, eventually even her body. But somehow, it had not been enough, and her sister had slipped away from her. Now, she had only Frannie.

"Thanks," Olivia replied. "He's really changed my life."

Amanda wanted to keep talking with Olivia, to get to know her sergeant more, but for the second time that day she couldn't speak and found herself battling tears. She was wondering if her own life would ever change.

* * *

Luckily, Amanda didn't have long to brood; she and Olivia were soon out of the cold and inside the heated Liberal Arts building, on their way to interview Professor William Mackey about what he had witnessed in the classroom that night Jewel was assaulted. They found the Professor typing away at a laptop in his fourth-floor office. It was a cozy, square-shaped room over-crammed with shelves and shelves of books and a stately mahogany desk stacked with more even more books and piles of papers. When they knocked at his open door, Professor Mackey raised his eyes from the computer screen, then nodded to both women and gave them a broad, welcoming smile. He stood up. Amanda saw that though he was an older man, probably in his fifties, he was quite handsome, with wavy hair, a pair of dark-rimmed designer eyeglasses, and a suit and tie. "Hello Ladies," he said politely. "Can I help you with something?"

"Professor Mackey?" Olivia asked. "I'm Olivia Benson with Special Victims Unit, and this is my detective, Amanda Rollins. We're investigating a sexual assault case on campus involving a student in one of your classes, Jewel Matthews. The assault took place shortly after your five o'clock History of American Politics class let out for the evening, and we wondering if we could ask you some questions."

The smile immediately vanished from the Professor's face. His hand fluttered to his mouth, and he didn't speak for several minutes. Finally, he cleared his throat. "Jesus," he mumbled. "Jewel Matthews has been one of my best students. What could have happened to her?"

"That's what we're trying to find out," Amanda said. "She claimed she went to a fraternity party after your class, but she can't give us any details on where this party occurred. Is there any chance you overhead her talking to another classmate about where she was going, or any chance she confided in you? She told us she was having some trouble in your class, with a paper?"

"As a matter of fact, she didn't turn in a major paper for the course this week. The students were to analyze the accomplishments of a political figure in American history and write a twelve page report on this. Jewel was hysterical at the end of class; told me she was overwhelmed and unable to finish the assignment by the due date."

"And not finishing this paper, this would lead to her failing the course?"

"Absolutely, as it's worth half the grade," Professor Mackey replied. "And her first paper and participation in class were outstanding, so it seemed a terrible shame. That's why I offered her the extension."

"Extension?" Amanda asked. She and Olivia shared confused looks.

"Yes. She was so grateful. She promised to go straight to the campus library and continue working on the paper. I assumed that's where she was going after class. I'm shocked to hear that she went to a frat party instead." The professor's brow furrowed.

"Professor…what do you know about another student in the class, Tony Bronson?" Olivia asked.

Professor Mackey shook his head ad sighed. "I know he's disruptive. He's late to almost every class and mostly texts on his cell phone or flirts with the girls."

"Was he ever hostile towards Jewel?"

Professor Mackey frowned. "Not overtly, no," he said. "But he would roll his eyes or sigh whenever she spoke in class. I think there's a lot of jealousy towards Jewel because of her intelligence, her ambition. She does whatever it takes to succeed," he said, almost reverently.

"So after class, Jewel stopped and talked to you?" Amanda clarified. "Was she the last one out of the room?"

"I believe so," the Professor said. "Naturally, she wanted to speak to me in private about the paper not being finished. I think she was embarrassed. It's not like her at all to fall behind on assignments."

"Did she leave the classroom upset? Did you happen to notice which direction she was headed in?" Amanda asked.

"Like I said, detectives, she had told me she was going to the library. I never would have suspected she was lying to me, or that she would go to a fraternity party." He paused, as if searching for words. "It's… disappointing," he said. "That even the most promising students cave into peer pressure and shirk their studies in favor of partying. This isn't the first time that we've had things get out of control at a fraternity here on campus, I'm afraid. Kids make poor choices. Now, you'll have to excuse me," he said. "I have a class to teach in ten minutes. Sorry I couldn't be of more help."

Amanda scowled at his back as he glided off down the hallway. "Sure, blame the victim," she muttered. "I can't believe the cavalier attitudes that people have at this college. He acts like what happened was Jewel's decision."

Olivia sighed in agreement. "Our trouble with prosecuting sexual assault at Hudson goes way back before your time in New York, Amanda," she explained. "The staff know that the college's image always comes first; they're probably coached to do and say anything to hide the university's reputation as the rape capital of higher education."

"The one thing I noticed..." Amanda said. "Jewel told us she failed that paper the other day, that her stress over the grade was what supposedly prompted her go to the party in the first place. Why wouldn't she say anything about being given an extension?"

"I don't know," Olivia said. "It puts more holes in her story, that's for sure. I think we're going to have to confront Jewel about the inconsistencies in her statement, keep questioning her, play hardball if we have to. It's the only way we're going to get any answers about this."

* * *

Jewel, however, was not in her dorm room where she had agreed to meet the detectives that morning. Her roommate, Kelsey, answered the door, yawning sleepily, but snapped to attention when she saw Olivia. "Sergeant Benson, I'm glad you're here. I'm really concerned about Jewel. She hasn't been going to classes the past couple days, which is totally not like her, and she ran out of here this morning in tears and refused to tell me where she was going."

"She was supposed to do a walkthrough around campus with us, see if she could remember where her attack took place," Olivia said.

"She won't want to do that. She hasn't been talking, period, especially about the other night. She won't tell me anything other than that she just wants to drop what happened. But I can tell she's not okay."

"Hi Kelsey-I'm Detective Rollins," Amanda introduced herself. "Jewel originally confided in you about the assault, correct?"

The girl nodded, looking at the floor. "She was in bad shape. Her lip was bleeding. She was shaking. I kept asking her what happened and she just kept saying 'nothing'. I didn't think she was ever going to tell me. She kind of slid to the floor, and I wanted to comfort her somehow. I started rubbing her back and that seemed to get through to her, so I said, 'Please. Please tell me.' And that's when she said, 'He had sex with me.'"

"She said 'he had sex with me?' Not, 'he raped me'?" Amanda asked, curious about Jewel's choice of words.

Kelsey nodded. "I asked her if someone had hurt her or assaulted her. And she just nodded yes. But she wouldn't tell me the person's name. That's when I called the police," she finished, her voice trembling.

"You did the right thing, Honey," Amanda said, putting a hand on the distraught girl's shoulder. "Do you have guesses or ideas about where Jewel might have gone?"

Kelsey shrugged helplessly. "She usually goes to the library to work," she said. "Also, there's a bunch of study nooks in the Liberal Arts building. One of them, on the second floor, has some comfy armchairs. Sometimes she goes there to read."

"Thanks, Kelsey." Olivia said. "We'll start there."

* * *

Olivia and Amanda scoured the campus library, checking every cubicle, computer, and book aisle. Nothing. Next, they backtracked to the liberal arts building, hurried to the second floor, and searched for the cozy study nook that Kelsey had described. Amanda was the first to spot a circle of cushioned armchairs by one of the windows. All the seats, however, were empty. Olivia pointed to a backpack lying on its side on the shag rug spread across the floor, and the two hurried over to it. Sure enough, the front pocket was monogrammed with the name "Jewel." There was a teddy bear keychain attached to the zipper. It reminded Amanda's of a little girl's backpack She suddenly remembered the weight of Jewel in her arms, and her throat seized up with emotion. "Liv… she left her bag…what if she's in trouble?"

Olivia put a gentle hand on the small of Amanda's back, steering her down the hall to keep her moving. "Let's check every floor," she said. "If her backpack's here, she's most likely in the building."

They finally spotted Jewel sitting on the floor in the fourth floor hallway, her back against the wall and her knees drawn up to her chest. Amanda and Olivia broke out into a jog to reach her; Amanda dropped to her knees and put a hand on the girl's shoulder. "Jewel…honey? It's Detective Rollins."

Jewel didn't acknowledge Amanda. She sat stark still, her face ashen, and gazed, unblinking, across the hallway. Amanda followed her line of vision and realized that she was staring into Professor Mackey's empty office. She and Olivia exchanged surprised glances—in their haste to find Jewel, neither had realized that they had ended up where they had started an hour ago.

"Jewel…can you hear us? Are you okay?" Olivia called out softly. Jewel blinked. Her eyes met Amanda's light blue ones and she startled, leaping to her feet. She whirled around and made as if to run away, like a skittish animal in flight. Amanda gently caught her arm. "Whoa, honey, slow down. It's okay. Olivia and I just want to help you. Calm down."

"Just leave me alone—I don't want to talk to you," Jewel said with a sob. "Please…I'm sorry I said anything. Please, just drop this case. It'll ruin _everything. _No one will understand._"_

"What do you mean, sweetie?" Olivia asked. "Ruin what? What won't we understand?"

Jewel shook her head and sobbed more heavily. Other students passing by gawked at the sight or glanced back over their shoulders, eager to find out why there why there were two police officers and a hysterical freshman in the hallway. Amanda moved her hand to rub Jewel's back, remembering how Kelsey had said it had calmed her. "Take a deep breath," she soothed.

Olivia spotted an empty classroom and motioned for Amanda to guide Jewel to privacy. Putting an arm around the girl, Amanda walked her into the room and helped her sit down at one of the nearest desks as Olivia shut the door behind them. "Shhh," Amanda whispered to Jewel, hating to hear her sobs.

"Jewel…can you talk to us?" Olivia asked. "What were you doing sitting in the hallway? Were you waiting for Professor Mackey?"

Jewel stared at the floor. Amanda kept rubbing her back, and she finally nodded. "I—I have to talk to him about my grade."

"About that—"Amanda said. "We spoke with the Professor this morning. He told us that he gave you an extension on your paper. Why did you tell us you failed it the other day?"

Amanda felt Jewel stiffen. "There's _no _extension," she sniffled. "I didn't earn any extension. I went to the frat party instead." Her words sounded rote.

"Jewel—please," Olivia said. "We can only help us if you talk to us. Walk us through that night, step by step, like we planned."

Jewel took a shuddery breath. "I just—just wanted to succeed. To be a good student. But I messed up." Her tear-filled eyes sought out Amanda's. "Professor Mackey-he had hopes for me. He said I would make a great Professor someday."

"You were over-worked, Jewel," Amanda said, trying to validate her, keep her talking. "You got stressed, didn't finish an assignment. It happens."

"I went to talk to him after class—told him I didn't have my paper," Jewel continued. "He said there was usually a zero tolerance policy for late assignments." She paused, her eyes glazing over. "But that for me…maybe…he could make an exception. He said that I could make up the paper, and that he would talk to me about it more… in his office."

"His office?" Olivia asked. "He told us that you two just talked in the classroom and that he sent you right to the library to finish the paper." She and Amanda locked eyes with one another, their thoughts gathering tempo at the same time.

"I went in there with him," Jewel stammered. " I've been in his office before-he helped me plan classes for next semester a couple weeks back. I like talking to Professor Mackey. He told me I had such 'potential,' and that he was disappointed that I didn't finish the paper. He told me that I was still one of the best students he'd ever had, and that he liked me." Her lips trembled. "And then—then he said, 'kiss me and I'll give you an A.' So I kissed him." She sobbed. "I kissed him and he started touching me all over. I made the first move," she gasped.

Amanda went cold. She remembered the motel balcony, drawing Patton in and pressing her lips to his.

"Jewel—did Professor Mackey have sex with you?" Olivia asked.

"I—I just let him touch me at first," Jewel admitted. "I _liked_ him. But he started getting rough, and then I finally whispered 'no.' I tried to push him off me. But he just kept going. He threw me up against the desk. He bit my lip. He ripped off my clothes, and I was crying and told him to stop, but he had sex with me anyway. I don't think he could help himself." She turned and wrapped her arms around Amanda's waist. "Please…please don't arrest him," she sobbed. "He's my favorite teacher, and I don't want to fail the class."


	7. Chapter 7

**Chapter 7**

The events of the rest of the day passed by in a whirlwind. Amanda and Olivia arrested Professor Mackey and brought him into the station, where Liv and Fin vigorously questioned him and obtained a DNA sample to check against the semen traces found in Jewel's rape kit. Meanwhile, Amanda returned to campus and searched Professor Mackey's office, swabbing his desk for fingerprints and DNA, and then reviewed security camera footage in the liberal arts building, which showed Jewel and William Mackey entering the professor's office at about 6:45 P.M. Jewel stumbled out the door about fifty minutes later, her blouse unbuttoned, groping the wall for support as she made her way down the empty hallway. To Amanda, it was incontrovertible visual evidence.

A DNA match and a confession later—about seven hours after bringing Professor Mackey into custody -the perpetrator was apprehended and transferred to Riker's pending his arraignment. They had caught Jewel's rapist. Amanda collapsed into her swivel chair, the adrenaline slowly draining out of her. It was past six o'clock. She watched dully as a frazzled young woman entered the station, balancing a baby on one hip and toting a bag overflowing with toys and a bottle. Noah, she recognized, noting the child's dark, tousled hair. Olivia, at her desk trying to plough through paperwork on today's arrest, looked out her office window and caught sight of her son, her eyebrows drawing together in consternation. She quickly shuffled some papers into a pile on her desk and hurried out to meet the sitter.

"I'm so sorry, Laurie, I got caught up on a case," Olivia said, reaching out her arms for the baby.

"I hate to bring him here, but my husband and I have dinner plans," Laurie said rather testily. "I'm really not available after six."

"I know—I apologize," Olivia said, bouncing Noah up and down in her arms. "I'll have to try to keep an eye on him while I finish up for the night."

Amanda slid out of her chair and approached her Sergeant. "Hey, Olivia. I'll babysit him, if you want," she found herself saying. It would take her away from having to catalogue evidence, to think more about the case she had just solved. She had hoped that proving her competence at work would bring some equilibrium to her life, but she had never before felt so off balance.

"Are you sure, Amanda? It's been a long day," Olivia said. "You should go home for the night."

"I'm sure," she replied. "That is, if you're comfortable with that," she said, suddenly feeling sheepish.

Olivia gently transferred Noah to Amanda. "I really appreciate this," she said. "I'll get the evidence to the lab, wrap up the paperwork, and handle the press. We already have at least two news crews calling about the arrest on campus. Why don't you take him in my office. Give me an hour or two, and I should have things wrapped up enough to go home for the evening."

Amanda nodded, awed to feel a baby filling up her arms. Olivia's baby, no less. She cradled him to her like she would a fragile glass vase.

"And you, my little man," Olivia cooed, bending to kiss Noah's round cheeks. "You be a good boy for Amanda."

Noah blew bubbles, squirmed in Amanda's arms, and pointed towards the bag of toys the sitter had plopped on the floor before making her exit. Amanda collected the bag—patterned with trains and cars—and headed into Olivia's office. She sat down on the leather loveseat with Noah in her lap, the toys on the cushion next to them. Noah reached into the open bag and pulled out a stuffed Clifford the dog. He smiled, a bit of drool rolling down his chin.

"You like dogs?" Amanda said. She moved Noah to her knee. "I saw pictures of you the other day on Mommy's phone."

Noah stared up at her. He had intense brown eyes and long, dark lashes. Though he was a foster child and not flesh and blood, it struck Amanda that he looked a bit like Olivia. Noah sucked on Clifford's ear, tossed the toy on the floor, then twisted himself around and busied himself with Amanda's hands, captivated by the bandages. "Boo Boo," he babbled, pointing to the gauze.

Amanda swallowed hard. "Yeah…boo boo." She said. She stroked his wavy hair. This little boy, bounced from home to home, his ribs broken, had known pain too.

* * *

About an hour later, Olivia returned to the office to find Noah sucking on a bottle of apple juice in the crook of Amanda's arm, Clifford clutched in one hand. "Hey, Amanda," she said. "How's he's doing?"

"He's been outstanding," Amanda said simply. "Did you get everything straightened out with Jewel's case ?"

"Yes—I'm just glad we have that son of a bitch in custody," Olivia said. "It's sickening how a teacher could abuse his authority that way."

"Yeah," Amanda said. But she was sickened by the whole world, a place where people readily used their power for perversion—parents, professors, commanding officers.

"You did beautifully in getting Jewel to open up to you," Olivia continued. "In the weeks to come, when she'll have to testify, she'll be under a lot of stress. We should get her counseling. I thought you might be the perfect person to reach out to her and make the suggestion, considering you just took that big step in getting help."

Now, Amanda was sickened by herself. Wordlessly, she handed Noah to Olivia. Her arms felt incredibly empty.

Olivia looked at her sideways. "Hey…you alright?" she asked, suddenly concerned. 'You're very white all the sudden."

"Fine, Serge," Amanda said. "I enjoyed watching Noah. He's a sweet boy."

"Thank you so much for taking care of him for me," Olivia said. "Looks like he's getting sleepy, so I should get him home to bed." She shifted the droopy-eyed Noah to her shoulder.

Before she could start to cry, Amanda hurried past Olivia, grabbed her purse, and rushed out of the station.

* * *

Gulping straight from the vodka bottle that night in her apartment, Amanda thought about Noah and pondered the reasons she had volunteered to babysit. Maybe she was drawn to his innocence. Little Noah was the future—despite all the hardships in his early months, his life was just beginning. Maybe, caring for Olivia's son made her feel closer to Liv one last time.

The decision had come to her gradually throughout the afternoon as they cracked the case. It had been a culmination of many things- solving Jewel's rape and yet still feeling worthless, the emptiness of her life and the lack of people in it, the unbearable nightmares awaiting her when she closed her eyes for the night. She lay her gun on the end table in her living room, checking to make sure it was loaded , then worked up the courage to carry out her plan. All night long, she tried to chase her fear with shots of vodka and bourbon. She stumbled out on the landing to get a final glimpse of the stars, smoking cigarette after cigarette, intermittently burning her arms and wrists, proving to herself that she would be able to take the pain.

Dizzy, she eventually sat down on the cold concrete and sat slumped against the railing; she must have dozed off, because when she opened her eyes, the sun had risen and the snow-dusted city sparkled white in the morning light. She walked back inside her apartment, went and picked up the gun. She but the barrel to her temple and her forefinger flexed on the trigger.

Frannie barked, twice. Startled, Amanda nearly dropped the weapon in her hand. Her dog was lying on the kitchen tiles, her tail thumping. She whined plaintively. _My God._ She hadn't made arrangements for Frannie. Horrified sobs ripped though her body. Shaking uncontrollably, Amanda let the gun clatter back to the end table. Her phone. Where was her phone? She saw her purse lying on the kitchen table, dug through until she found her cell. Frantically, she scrolled through her contacts. Fin…Nick…she stopped on Olivia, thinking of Noah and his red Clifford dog. Frannie loved kids. Trying to get a handle on her breathing, she pressed send. The phone rung three times and Liv picked up.

"Amanda, what's up, it's almost nine…are you coming to work today?" Olivia asked.

Amanda wheezed into the phone. Olivia heard her harsh breathing and whimpers and her voice seized with concern. "What's going on? Are you okay? Talk to me, Amanda."

"Liv—I need you to take…I want Noah to have…" her dog's name stuck in her throat. She sobbed and sobbed in to the receiver. "Where are you?' Olivia demanded. "Are you at home? I'm coming to you. Just hold on, okay? Hold on, Amanda. Will you do that for me ?"

Amanda looked at the gun on the end table for a long moment, deciding. Then, she nodded into the phone in surrender. "I need help, Liv," she wept.

"Shhh…" Olivia hushed her through the receiver. "Please hold tight for me. I'll be right there, honey."


	8. Chapter 8

A/N: Hope everyone enjoys this chapter, even if it is a bit shorter!

**Chapter 8**

For all Amanda knew, the time between her phone call and Olivia's arrival at her door might have been a second or an eternity. After hanging up with her sergeant, she lost her grip on the present, still enticed by the gun on the table, suspended between life and death. Liv was coming; she would be there for Frannie. She was free to pull the trigger. She didn't want to put Olivia through the trauma of finding her body, though. Not when she had promised to hold on.

_Hold on,_ she told herself. Frannie came over to lick her face and she clutched at her collar, desperate for a physical anchor to this world.

"Amanda? Amanda, it's Olivia. Can you open up for me?" Amanda heard Liv knocking, and Frannie let out a bark. She made to move and found that she was on the floor. She hadn't remembered lying down on the carpet—still inebriated from the alcohol, she found herself dizzy and unable to stand. "Amanda, I'm coming in," Olivia said, and she needed to only jiggle the handle and the door swung open; in the state Amanda had been in when she had come in from the landing, she hadn't remembered to lock the apartment. Through a veil of tears, Amanda saw Olivia hustle inside. She looked tall, blurred, surreal to Amanda from her position on the floor.

"Oh my God, Amanda," Olivia exclaimed, her footsteps thudding on the carpet. "Hey, it's me, it's Liv," she said, kneeling down beside Amanda. As Olivia's face came into focus, the detective was eerily reminded of her dream from a few nights back, when Olivia had suddenly appeared in her line of vision in the midst of her silent screams. As then, Amanda felt a hand stroke back her hair. Unable to help herself, she let out a sob.

"Hey, it's okay...it's okay, I'm here. Shhh. Let's get you off the floor," Olivia murmured, her voice taking on that soothing, husky tone she got with the most fragile of victims. Olivia's hand slid under her shoulders and gently tugged; Amanda yielded to her touch and let Liv lift her upper body into her lap.

"I've got you," Olivia reassured, propping Amanda's head on her knee. She stroked her hair some more as Amanda shuddered and fought sob after sob. They remained in that position for several minutes, Olivia murmuring to Amanda, hushing her gently. "Shhh…Amanda, it's okay. Shhhh. Breathe." Olivia put a hand on Amanda's chest, and Amanda realized she was wheezing again. "What's got you so upset, huh?" Olivia asked as the distraught woman in her lap struggled to pull air into her lungs. "Are you sick? Hurt?"

Amanda shook her head , trying to swallow her cries. "Please talk to me, Manda," Olivia said. Manda…it was the name Kim called her as kids. No one else called her Manda, except occasionally Fin. The use of her childhood nickname demolished her remaining defenses. "I want to die, Liv," Amanda choked out.

The words didn't immediately register on Olivia's face. Her eyes scanned the room and locked on Amanda's loaded gun lying on the table. Her gaze then fell back to Amanda, a horrified knowledge glistening in her eyes. "Oh , _sweetie," _she said with feeling. Then,Olivia did something that surprised Amanda. She drew Amanda up until she was completely in her arms and started to rock her as if she were a very small child, like she would with baby Noah. Amanda sobbed then in earnest, no longer able to stifle her cries. It was a primal kind of anguish. Olivia held Amanda for a very long time-she said nothing, just cradled her protectively and rocked back and forth, back and forth.

Finally, when Amanda's sobs turned to sniffles, she spoke. "Amanda— I have to get you to a hospital."

Amanda whimpered in protest against Olivia's damp shoulder. "Please, Liv…I don't need that. I don't want to go to a hospital," she said. Her voice was thick was mucous and tears.

"I know you don't," Olivia said. She disarmed Amanda by rocking her some more. "Sweetheart, you need to get some help," she said quite tenderly. "I don't want you to hurt yourself. If you fight me on this, I'll have to call a bus. I'd rather you let me take you to the ER, though, for an evaluation."

"You're going to take my gun and my badge. I'll lose my job," she sobbed.

"Shhh." Olivia said. "Let's not talk about that now. Let's worry about you and your safety." She pulled back to look at Amanda. "I'm going to get you some water." Amanda propped herself on one elbow, her vision fuzzy, the room still tilting and spinning. She heard Olivia bustle about the kitchen, opening and closing cabinets, the fridge. Moments later, she was back bearing a cold glass of water that she pressed into Amanda's hand. "What did you drink?" Olivia asked. Her voice was calm and devoid of judgment. "Just the vodka and bourbon that was on the counter?"

"Yeah…probably half a bottle of each," Amanda admitted, taking a long swallow of water. "I'm still pretty dizzy."

Olivia reached out a hand to Amanda. "Come on," she coaxed. "I'll help you up." Amanda latched onto her grip and her sergeant tugged gently till she was able to wobble to her feet. She put an arm around Amanda, letting her lean against her shoulder for support. Together they made their way out onto the landing, the cold air hitting Amanda's face and snapping her back to her senses a bit. She was going to the _hospital, _and then, most likely, the psych ward. A part of her wanted to bolt, but she felt childlike, dependent as Liv steered her down the steps towards her car. She knew that if she ran away, she would return right back to the gun. Olivia was literally her lifeline at the moment.

They reached Olivia's car and her sergeant pulled a woven blanket from the trunk; opened the door to the backseat. "Why don't you lie down," she suggested. Amanda obediently curled up on the seat cushions and let Olivia tuck the blanket around her. "Okay? Hold tight," she said, shutting the door and hopping in the driver seat. Exhausted, Amanda let her eyes flutter shut as Olivia started the ignition and took to the roads, letting the motion of the car and the hum of the engine lull her to sleep.

* * *

Amanda startled awake as Olivia pulled up the car in front of Manhattan General Hospital. Liv kept her arm looped around her shoulders till they got in the waiting room, and Amanda kept her blanket tucked around her, wishing that she could hide inside it. She sunk down into one of the plastic chairs as Olivia went up to the counter. She heard her Sergeant mutter the words "gun" and "suicidal" and "detective of mine" to the admitting receptionist, and her face turned hot. She wanted to die again, this time from the shame. Olivia returned back to her with some forms. There was that buzzing in her ears again, and her hand seemed strangely unconnected to her body as she filled out her name and personal information with the pen.

"Do you want me to stay?" Olivia asked when she had struggled through most of the paperwork.

Amanda studied the linoleum tiles on the floor. She wanted, more than anything, to say yes. "Don't you have to get back to the station?"

"Fin's covering for me," Olivia said. "It's important for me to be here with you, if you'd like me to."

Amanda nodded. "Stay," she said.


	9. Chapter 9

**A/N: Sorry that it's been awhile since un update-for all of you have been following this story, I promise I haven't forgotten it! This is just a short chapter since my schedule has been busy, but there is definitely more to come! Enjoy!**

**Chapter 9 Lift Me Up**

Back in the ER, Amanda was allotted a curtained-off gurney with crinkly wax paper. The nearby bustle of the doctors and nurses, coupled with the smell of disinfectant and faint whiff of hospital food, made her queasy, so she concentrated on breathing in and out through her nose, afraid that if she opened her mouth to speak, she would be sick. Olivia pulled a chair beside the gurney and sat beside Amanda, not saying anything, just staying close. She took Amanda's hand and laced their fingers together in a gesture of support.

After a few long minutes, when the worst of her nausea had passed, Amanda spoke, her eyes welling up.

"I lied to you, Liv. I never called that therapist."

Olivia nodded in acceptance. "Okay," she said. "We'll talk about that later."

"I was too much of a coward to get help," Amanda blurted, desperate to explain.

"I just wish you had told me," Olivia said. "I wish you had told _someone_, Amanda. To think that you got to this point…" she trailed off and squeezed Amanda's hand.

Amanda's head flopped back against the gurney in defeat, and the hot tears spilled down her cheeks. She ached inside—everything hurt so much. "I'm gonna lose everything, Liv," she murmured. "I should have died. I was _ready _to die. Now, you'll have to take my gun and you'll have to take my badge because I'm not safe and I'll have _nothing,_ I'll have _no one, _I'm a _failure…" _she said, the words gathering momentum as she spoke.

"Shhh….Amanda. Just close your eyes and rest. Let yourself rest," Olivia said, smoothing back her hair. "Don't do this to yourself."

Amanda let out a shuddery breath and just lay there with her pain, her eyes fluttering shut as her sergeant stroked her hair some more. Liv's touches made things just bearable. After some time, Olivia had almost lulled her off to sleep when a nurse came in to check her vitals . Groggy, Amanda straightened on the gurney and, without thinking, let the woman roll up her sleeve to take her blood pressure.

Olivia gasped at the sight of the scars and fresh blisters that covered Amanda's arm. "Oh sweetie, what did you do?"

Horrified, Amanda tried to twist her arm free from the nurse's grasp, but she had already applied the blood pressure cuff and started to pump. The middle-aged woman in blue scrubs had a brusque, silent way about her, going about her examinations without comment. Olivia, however, pressed on. "What happened, 'Manda?" she asked, using the nickname again.

As before, Amanda broke. "I burned myself with cigarettes," she mumbled into her lap, unable to look at anyone in the room.

"So self-inflicted wounds on the forearms," the nameless nurse stated as they released the pressure on the cuff, chiming in with the obvious. She shook her headful of curls. "And your hands?" she asked, pointing to the bandages. "You burned them too?"

"Them too," Amanda whispered after a moment. She heard Olivia draw in a deep breath. She tried to suppress a sob of shame but it burst past her lips anyway. "I'm sorry. I lied, again, Liv," she said. Olivia didn't respond, but reached out to rub Amanda's shoulder in acknowledgement. The nurse pulled out a chart and immediately began making notes and asking questions. "You're here as a result of a suicide attempt?" she said brusquely.

"I—had my gun ready," Amanda said. "I called my—" she stumbled over the right word, about to say 'friend' but afraid to take that liberty. "-my sergeant to ask her to take my dog." Olivia stroked the back of her head, and she could feel her fingers trembling as they moved through her hair. Surprised, her eyes searched out Olivia and she saw that her eyes were glinting with what might be tears. "But Liv—she convinced me to hang on until she came over."

The nurse nodded and hurried on, taking her pulse and then a blood sample that would be sure to turn up a high alcohol level. She then immediately traded placed with a social worker, who made Amanda give the same answers to similar questioning. At the end of it all, the verdict was a mandatory 72 hour hold in the hospital psychiatric ward for further monitoring, where she would be transferred as soon as a bed opened up, most likely within a couple of hours. As soon as the social worker left, Amanda started to panic. "Frannie," she said, grabbing Olivia's forearm. "I have no one to take care of Frannie," she said. "I can't call Fin, or Nick, because I don't want them to know, they can't know, please Olivia…"

Olivia shushed her again. "I'll get your house key from your belongings at the nurse's station, walk her and feed her. It's alright, Amanda. I'll bring Noah over with me after work and he'll have a blast."

Amanda tried to thank Olivia, but she was choking on more sobs trying to rattle themselves loose. Sensing her distress, Olivia folded her into her arms, holding her for the second time that day. "It's okay to cry, sweetheart. You've obviously got so much pain pent up," Olivia murmured. Amanda sobbed and moaned and gripped Olivia back shamelessly, not wanting her to leave. She was flashing back to Kim's nineteenth birthday, when her sister had snorted oxycodone and then tried to drive her car into a tree, ending up in a ditch instead. She had been admitted to the psych ward at Atlanta General and had begged Amanda to stay with her, grabbing at her hand and screaming that she not let the doctors take her. Now, Amanda was the one clutching onto someone, about to be put away herself.

After Amanda's cries had died down to whimpers and sniffles, Olivia began to speak softly, her voice strained with emotion. "I really dropped the ball with you, Amanda," she murmured. "I've watched you struggle, and I should have done something, should have talked to you or offered to listen a long time ago, back when you started gambling, coming in late, looking so tired. But I just stood back and watched what was happening and got tough with you when I should have been softer. You were a victim, and you deserved support from the commanding officer of SVU. You deserved more."

"Bu-but I never wanted you to see me as a victim," Amanda said with a hiccup. "I wanted to be a detective. But now I've lost-" she trailed off and wept, mourning what she was sure was the permanent end to her job.

"You listen to me," Olivia said tenderly. "I've been through this, remember? I've been through two assaults. And I still have my badge. You can get _past _this, Amanda. I'm not gonna lie to you…I will have to take your gun for awhile. For your own safety, until we're sure you don't feel like you want to hurt yourself anymore. It might take some time. It's going to take therapy, and talking, and a lot of baby steps. But I want you back on my team, when you're ready." She hugged Amanda closer for emphasis.

"So…one day I'll be back in your good graces?" Amanda asked through her tears.

Olivia lay a motherly kiss on the younger woman's forehead. "You're already in my good graces."

Amanda went limp with relief in Olivia's arms. She was surprised at how long her Sergeant was holding her and even more so that she didn't have the slightest urge to pull away. Tucked against Liv's chest, listening to her steady heartbeat, it occurred to Amanda that this may have been one of the most intimate moments of her life.


	10. Chapter 10

A/N: It's been over a year since I have been able to work on this story, or really write creatively at all. But, I have so much more that I wanted to say, and so much more in store for these characters. I'd really like to pick this back up where I left off. To all those that left encouraging reviews; thank you! You have inspired me to finish this.

**Chapter 10**

Though surrounded by people and under constant surveillance, Amanda decided that the psych ward was one of the world's loneliest places. Manhattan General's third floor psychiatric hospital was filled with the sounds of crying and sometimes shrieking, a temporary holding place for the desperate and the desolate. Amanda, who was locked on the crisis stabilization unit, shared a room with a woman who had severe depression; she had burrowed herself under her sheets and refused to speak or rise. Her first evening inpatient, Amanda didn't move much from her bed either, lying on her back with her eyes trained to the ceiling, counting the tiles. The rest of the time, she dozed lightly, the voices of staff and murmurs and sometimes cries of patients depriving her of real, restful sleep, as she was not allowed to shut her door for safety reasons. Every fifteen minutes, a busy aide or psych nurse would pop his or her head inside the room for an impersonal "check" to verify both women were still breathing. Institutional food was brought to Amanda on a plastic tray, a glob of mashed potatoes and rubbery Salisbury steak for dinner. Amanda refused to eat, and lay there awake and motionless until long after midnight. Her body felt so heavy. During that long stretch of hours, she wished more than anything that she had pulled the trigger. There were times when she hated Olivia for rushing over to her apartment, for talking her into holding on. For a fleeting moment, she even hated Frannie, for barking, for pulling her out of her trance, for needing her. And it was the anger towards her sweet dog that finally brought tears. They drenched her flimsy pillow until she fell into a restless sleep.

The next morning, Amanda felt nothing but numb. She left her breakfast of lukewarm oatmeal and buttered toast untouched. A few hours later, one of the nurses walked into the room to collect her tray and draw the blinds so that some pale winter sunshine filtered in. She smiled at Amanda and asked her if she'd like to watch some TV (the two roommates shared one flatscreen set mounted on the wall, the only bit of luxury in the room), and Amanda had shrugged and let her turn on the morning news. Gently, as if dealing with an invalid, the nurse pressed the remote into Amanda's hand and left the room. Amanda muted the volume and stared dully at the television, barely registering the images before her until the close-up of a familiar man's face popped onscreen. She stiffened at the sight of Professor William Mackey and instantly turned the volume back on.

"Once a well-respected History Professor at New York's Hudson University, Professor William Mackey is now known as a sex offender who allegedly propositioned students for sex in exchange for better grades," said the crisp voice of the news anchor. "Since Mackey was taken into custody by two officers of Manhattan's Special Victims Unit for assaulting freshman history major Jewel Matthews, at least three other young women have come forward claiming that their trusted Professor had forced himself on them in his office after they had come to him for study sessions or help with assignments."

As the camera panned away from Mackey's face and the news report continued, Amanda sat there, digesting the magnitude of what she'd heard. The story about Jewel's rape had just aired not even forty-eight hours ago and already other students were disclosing their assaults. Since Mackey had taught at Hudson for over eight years, there could be potentially dozens of other young women speaking out in the days to come. Amanda's heart started to pound faster, beating some life back into her. This was the part of being an SVU detective that she found both disturbing and rewarding. Unearthing new victims meant discovering more violation, more pain, but it also meant a shattering of silence and shame. It meant newfound justice for people that had long suffered alone.

Amanda's vision blurred with tears. If she was going to have to live, she wanted her job. She wanted to comfort Jewel and walk her through her recovery. She wanted to collar men in power who had used their authority to dominate others, put cuffs on hands that had touched without consent. She wanted to carry a weapon with confidence again, to chase down perps without fear, to bring some semblance of security to an unsafe world. But could she get herself stronger?

Alone, no, Amanda decided. She shuddered at the thought of nights in an empty apartment, of days alone without work, and felt that endless ache inside of her again. She hugged her pillow to her chest for want of something else to cling to. But what about with that support system—a _friend?_ She remembered how she'd allowed Olivia hold her the other day, completely and with total surrender. How she'd let her rock her on the floor in her apartment, and then later cradle her on the hospital gurney while she cried. Amanda had lay against her, drawing strength from the rise and fall of her Sergeant's chest, as if Olivia were breathing for the two of them. The memory filled her with fear and embarrassment, but also a strange longing she had never felt before.

Suddenly propelled by a restless energy after hours of lying still, Amanda hoisted herself out of the bed and began to pace the room in her padded hospital socks. Why would Olivia want to be her friend after what she had almost done? She had been so _weak._ She was an addict, a victim, and now a mental patient. Pent up, desperate to move, she wandered into the hallway and began to walk aimlessly. For a good hour or so, Amanda wandered the small unit, feeling trapped, wanting out. There were other patient rooms; a nurse's station with a unit secretary; and a common area with blue vinyl chairs, a couch, and some card tables where some other patients were playing monopoly, scrabble and cards. Amanda didn't register their faces or what they looked like. A dining room with the lingering smell of scrambled eggs. An alcove with an old-fashioned payphone for resident calls. The small therapy room, with a circle of twenty- or- so folding chairs, where groups would be held. She paced and paced her hospital prison until a plump nurse clad in Hello Kitty scrubs, the same nurse who had turned on her television that morning, grasped her gently by the shoulder.

As soon as the hand gripped her, Amanda gasped for air and twisted away in great alarm, her heart thudding so hard she could hear it beating in her ears. In those weeks after that night in the motel room with Patton, before she transferred to Manhattan SVU, the Deputy Chief would come by her desk in the Atlanta squad room and lightly squeeze her shoulder or bicep and say "Hello, darlin.' My office." And Amanda would go to his office on command. And once the doors were shut, Patton would… she would let him…

"Don't touch me," Amanda snarled at the nurse. She shoved at her, shoved away the fragmented thoughts that she couldn't bear to look. She never let her mind go back to that month after the motel room, when she had tried to stick it out at the job she had worked so hard for. To those "office visits" that made her finally realize that running from her squad was not enough—she had to leave Georgia itself and get as far away from home as possible. Until now, she had outrun the memories. Nausea swelled inside her and she thought she might throw up, though there was nothing in her stomach.

"Calm down!" the nurse said, her beady eyes going wide. "You don't look well, and I wanted to make sure you were alright."

"I'm fine," Amanda snapped. "Just don't put your hands on me." Clutching her midsection with one hand, she turned and bolted in the direction of her bedroom. Once there, she hurried into the cramped bathroom that she and her roommate shared, closed the door with no lock, fell to her knees, and dry heaved over the toilet bowl.

Amanda wasn't sure how long she sat slumped on the floor in front of the toilet, her hair damp with perspiration, breathing shallow and ragged. That nurse had come knocking and peeked her head into the bathroom several times for a "check." (Each time, Amanda had mumbled, "Just leave me the hell alone.)The fourth or fifth time the nurse came by, she said softly, "It's visiting hour, hon, and you have a visitor."

Amanda actually turned her head this time, bleary-eyed, to look up at the nurse standing in the bathroom doorway. "I don't want visitors. I want to be left _alone," _Amanda emphasized, trying to sound cold and firm, but instead her voice trembled, giving away her emotion and surprise. A visitor? For her?'

"Her name's Olivia something," the nurse continued, undeterred. "Berton?"

"Benson" Amanda corrected immediately. "Olivia Benson. She's my…." Again Amanda trailed off, at a loss for what to call Olivia. She continued to kneel there on the tiled floor, at war with herself. "Tell her to go away,' she almost said. But she couldn't make her lips form the words.

"She's got some things for you. Clothes…some other stuff. You feel well enough to come out and meet her?"

Amanda gazed down at the paper scrubs she was wearing, the spongy pair of hospital socks. Olivia had been so concerned and intent on getting her away from her gun and safely to the emergency room that they had not taken anything from Amanda's apartment except their purses, and she now realized that she had no clothes to wear other than what the emergency room had provided. Silently, Amanda got to her feet, refusing the nurse's offered arm for support, and padded down the hallway toward the dining area where some of the patients and their visitors had gathered for visiting hour, intermittently putting a palm to the wall to steady herself when a wave of dizziness passed over her. She saw Liv sitting at one of the tables with a blue duffel bag on the plastic chair next to her. As Amanda forced her way into the dining room, Olivia spotted her and gave her a thin smile, standing up from her chair. She looked her usual, put-together self—her brunette, wavy hair falling gracefully to her shoulders, she was dressed in a white sweater and pair of indigo jeans, the usual gold police badge still clipped to her waistband—Olivia must have come straight from work, Amanda realized. She looked beautiful. Standing there in her blue scrubs, Amanda felt deeply ashamed.

Olivia walked over to where Amanda was standing, reached out, and gently stroked Amanda's arm. "Hey, Amanda. How you doing?" she asked softly.

This touch didn't make Amanda startle, or think of Patton. Instead, it triggered a thought that frightened and confused Amanda. She imagined herself closing the distance between them, hiding her face in Liv's shoulder, and letting herself cry into her soft, white sweater. She immediately squashed this strange, primitive need that was welling up inside her and watched Olivia warily, both arms rigid at her sides. "I'm—about as well as can be expected," she mumbled. "Being where I'm at and all," she added dryly.

"I know you don't want to be here, honey," Olivia said. "I'm sorry." She motioned toward the duffel bag at the table. "I brought you some clothes and things from your apartment. I hope you don't mind that I went through your place, but I knew you'd need something to wear."

Amanda could only nod. She knew she should say thank you, but there was a lump in her throat. She followed Olivia to the table, sat down, and took the duffel bag onto her lap, unzipping it too examine the contents. Olivia had somehow managed to locate and pack her favorite clothes that she like to lounge in when at home alone—a pair of blue striped pajama pants, her gray NYPD-T shirt, a pair of faded jeans that had worn threadbare at the knees, her fuzzy flannel shirt. Her "bum clothes," as she jokingly called them at the office. "No bar for me tonight," she'd sometimes reply to Fin, when she was too worn down and sometimes too sad or preoccupied with thoughts of gambling to go out for drinks after their shift. "Gotta get to a meeting and then I'm gonna go home and change into my bum clothes." Liv must have been listening, paying attention to their conversation. Or, was it just dumb luck that she had picked the outfits that gave Amanda the greatest comfort? The blonde detective flushed as she rummaged further into the bag and found socks, bras, and underwear, articles far too intimate for Olivia to have packed, considering that even now Amanda didn't know whether to call her "friend." Yet Amanda had needed them, and Olivia had brought them to her. Once she had dug through the clothing and reached the bottom of the bag, Amanda's hand brushed something rectangular and solid. She pulled out the item and saw that it was the simple framed photograph of Franny cooling herself under the shade of an elm tree in Central Park, tongue lolling out one side of her mouth, eyes half closed in contentment-the picture of her dog that Amanda kept on the nightstand by her bed. Amanda looked at Olivia, hugging the picture frame to her chest without even realizing what she was doing. "I thought you might miss her," Olivia said, by way of explanation. "I know she means a lot to you. I thought you might like a reminder of her, something familiar from home. Even if you're only in the hospital a few days, I know it's hard."

Amanda tried to smile at Liv in thanks, but her face crumpled instead. " Frannie's the only reason I'm here—you know, still…" the word _alive _got stuck in her throat.

Her Sergeant reached across the table and put a warm hand over Amanda's, stroking her knuckles with her thumb. "I know, honey. I want you to hold on for me. I need you to hang in there."

Amanda wondered if she should pull her hand away from beneath Olivia's, but she was partly transfixed by the contact, by the soothing, sweeping patterns Liv drew on the back of her hand. They were silent for a moment. Amanda blew out a long, slow breath. "I think I might want to live, Olivia," she said finally, her voice almost a whisper.

"Sweetheart, I don't want you to _think_ you want to live," Olivia murmured back, equally as softly to ensure their conversation was private. "I want you to _know_ it." Amanda stared at the table for a long while, studying the white Formica surface. She didn't have a response to that. She let Olivia hold and stroke her hand for awhile longer before sliding out of her grasp. "How is Frannie?" she finally asked. "Is she doing okay? Playing with Noah?"

"Oh, she's doing fantastic," Liv assured her. "Noah figured out pretty quickly how to roll her a ball, and then how to throw it and play fetch. It's been constant playtime with those two."

Amanda smiled. "Who enjoys the game more? Noah or Frannie?"

"Tough call, but I'd say Noah. He has Frannie running back and forth across your kitchen so many times that she's pretty pooped by the end of it all. She just plops down panting."

"Can't believe Frannie's met her match," Amanda quipped. She turned serious then. "Thanks for walking and feeding and playing with her, Liv…and for the clothes… and the picture."

Olivia nodded. "You're welcome."

Unable to look Olivia in the eye, Amanda peered around the dining area and her eyes fell on the clock on the wall: 5:30 p.m. Her sergeant was going nonstop— she must have had to leave work early to make visiting hour and see Amanda, would have to rush home to pick up her son, and then would have to drive over to Amanda's place to feed and walk Frannie.

Amanda swallowed hard thenagain, wanting to know something. "I just have to ask. Why are you doing this?"

Olivia's eyebrows furrowed. "Doing what, honey?"

"You know—helping me out. Taking care of my dog. Visiting me in the hospital."

"Because you're important, Amanda," Olivia said. "And you need someone to be there for you right now."" Her answer was short and direct, yet gentle—so very Liv. Amanda nodded wordlessly, and that simple motion of her head suddenly cause the room to spin. She clutched her dizzy head with both hands.

"You okay?" Olivia asked with concern, leaning forward at the table.

"Feelin' a little dizzy," Amanda muttered.

"Should I grab a nurse?"

"No, I don't need a big fuss. But maybe I should go lie down."

"You look like you could use some rest" Liv agreed. "Why don't you let me help you back to your room?"

"I'm sure I can find my own way, Liv," Amanda retorted feebly, but as she stood up from her seat at the table, her knees buckled. "Whoa, Whoa, Amanda!" Liv exclaimed. With her electric reflexes, she managed to leap forward and catch Amanda before she completely collapsed , grasping her firmly beneath both arms. "It's okay, I've gotcha."

Incredibly lightheaded, Amanda slumped forward against Olivia, and her sergeant wrapped both arms securely around her, literally holding her up. "I need a nurse over here!" she called out. Amanda whimpered in frustration then, and Olivia whispered, "Shhh."

The sound of rapid footsteps and squeaking wheels sounded, and seconds later Hello Kitty nurse was beside them with, of all things, a wheelchair.

"I don't need—I can walk—"Amanda stammered, but Olivia and the nurse each grasped one arm and lowered her into the chair. Amanda covered her face with both hands to hide her angry, defeated tears.

"It's okay, honey. You're okay," she heard Liv murmuring. The next thing she knew, she felt a push from behind and she was moving forward; Liv or Hello Kitty nurse or someone must be wheeling her to her room. She just wished everything would stop spinning. When the chair came to a stop, she uncovered her face and wiped furiously at her eyes. Through blurry vision, she saw that both the nurse and Olivia had brought her bedside. Quickly, before they could stop her, Amanda pulled herself up onto unsupportive legs and pitched forward headfirst onto the mattress. She knew that it was a ridiculous move, that she was lucky not to hit the floor, but it was a last ditch attempt to save some dignity, so that Liv and some nurse didn't have to put her into bed. "Amanda! Sweetie, please, let us help you," Olivia admonished.

"She needs fluids," the nurse declared. She's been sick today, and she's been refusing meals since she's been here. I'll be back in a few to take her blood pressure and blood sugar," She turned around and walked out briskly.

Olivia reached down to put a hand on Amanda's forehead, and the pale blonde woman shrank away from the touch, scooting backwards on the bed. Olivia withdrew her hand. "You need to be eating, and drinking, honey." she said.

"What for?" Amanda mumbled. The words left her mouth before she could stop them.

Olivia's brow furrowed deep, and her lower lip pursed slightly, a gaze of pure concern, and Amanda imagined, pity. "Oh, Amanda," she whispered.

Amanda rolled over and away from her Sergeant, curling into herself and hugging her knees to her chest, squeezing her eyes shut tightly. Her posture demanded that everyone go away, leave her alone, but when she heard Olivia's retreating footsteps, her insides clenched, and her heart began to hammer in her chest. Two tears leaked out the corners of her eyes unbidden. She was suddenly terrified, and dared not turn around. Patton was behind her, towering over her. She could hear the sounds of him getting dressed-the zip of his pants, the clink of his belt buckle-as clearly as she did that night in the motel room, after she pulled out of inside of her, after he was finished. She was lying as she had then- curled up in the fetal position, completely naked on the cheap mattress.

She heard his footsteps coming round to her side of the bed, and she let out a shriek.

"Hey, hey, sweetie, it's me." It was a low, soothing female voice she knew well, not the Southern drawl of the man she feared so much. "It's Liv."

Weakened, without food, without her wits about her, Amanda whimpered, confused. Did Patton leave? How did Olivia get inside the motel? "Cover me up, Liv," Amanda whimpered, forgetting she was clothed. "I don't want you to see me this way. Please, cover me up."

Olivia hurried around to Amanda and knelt beside her bed. She had a pudding cup and juice box in her hand that she tossed aside onto the night stand. "Shhh…take a breath," she murmured. "Talk to me, Amanda. What do you need? Do you want me to put the blanket around you?"

"Please just cover me up," Amanda sobbed. "Please, Liv, Please…"

Olivia quickly grabbed the thick blanket at the foot of the hospital bed. She briskly opened it up and tucked it around Amanda, swaddling her in warm linen, rubbing her back through the fabric. Amanda sought out Olivia's eyes, fighting to come present but still in the past. "Is he gone, Liv?" she pleaded.

"Amanda, sweetie, there's no one here. There's no one here but us. Okay, honey? It's okay. You're safe. You're safe now," Olivia repeated.

Amanda let out a long breath. "I'm… in the hospital," she said raggedly. "I'm..I'm in New York."

"Yes, sweetheart," Olivia murmured. "You're here, with me, in New York. And he can't hurt you now. She rubbed slow, soothing circles on Amanda's back, grounding her through touch. "Just take a breath, my love."

Amanda blinked back more tears. Olivia was speaking so tenderly to her, as if she were a little girl. No one had ever spoken to her that way before. Five minutes passed where Olivia knelt on the floor beside her bed and just rubbed her back, until the nurse came back. As the nurse took Amanda's blood pressure, then pricked her finger and took her blood sugar, Olivia gathered the juice box off the nightstand and punctured it with the straw; peeled back the lid to the pudding cup and mixed pudding with a plastic spoon. "Do you think you can get something in her?" the nurse asked, pointing toward the hospital snacks.

Olivia held the straw to Amanda's lips. "Here sweetie—we've got to get you hydrated, " she coaxed.

Amanda was coming out of her flashback enough to be properly embarrassed and annoyed. "I can serve myself, Liv," she mumbled, but her lips closed around the straw nonetheless and she took a long, thirsty swallow from the juice box.

"She's back, attitude and all," Liv chuckled affectionately, giving her blonde hair a tug. "I'm glad you're feeling a little more yourself."

Amanda chuckled wearily and took the juice box from Olivia's hand. "Juicy Juice?", she said dubiously, raising her eyebrows at Hello Kitty nurse. "Gotta love the gourmet selections here. And you wonder why I won't eat?" she said, trying to cover up the fact that she was too depressed for food.

"You said you never say no to chocolate," Olivia challenged, offering her the chocolate pudding cup. "Was that all talk?"

Amanda rolled her eyes and swallowed one spoonful, then another. It was honestly hard for her to eat much more, to keep anything down, but after all Liv had done for her, she figured the least she could do was taste the pudding.

Once Hello Kitty nurse had left the room and Amanda had her fill of chocolate, Olivia sat down on the edge of Amanda's bed. Amanda was still wrapped up tight in the blanket Olivia had tucked around her. "I'm sorry about earlier, Liv," Amanda tried to explain, not wanting her Sergeant to think she was completely crazy. "I thought that Patton—I thought he was in the room." She flushed.

"I figured as much, Amanda," Olivia said softly, tucking a strand of hair behind Amanda's ear. "Remember what we do for a living. Remember what I've been through myself. Of course I would recognize what was happening to you. I understand flashbacks. After Sealview—after Lewis—I have had several. And please, honey—stop apologizing."

"But—why now? I was able to _function_ before, Liv. For years I pretended that nothing happened, and I was fine." Amanda asked, unable to control the tremble in her voice.

"Because no matter how much you try to pretend that it didn't happen—when you've been through trauma, experienced assault-it's something you'll carry with you. You might not experience it right away. Some people can keep what happened to them locked up inside for years, and then there's a trigger, or a reminder, or something that brings it all back. I've seen it happen so many times, Sweetie. And working the job, so have you. Why should you be any different?"

"I was okay," Amanda stammered, letting the tears fall now, unable to stop them. "And then Reese happened…and this all c-came back-"

"I know, Amanda. I know." Olivia said, hushing her gently. She stroked Amanda's hair. "Do you understand, now, why I wanted you to get help, to talk to someone? I can see how much you're hurting."

Amanda stared at Liv, brimming with questions, the words lodged in her throat. What if she didn't deserve to stop hurting? What if she was beyond help?


	11. Chapter 11

**A/N: Thanks again for all the reviews! **

**Chapter 11**

The next morning, Hello Kitty nurse came into Amanda's room with a chocolate croissant on a napkin, so that Amanda couldn't very well snarl at her to go away. She was wearing a different pair of Hello Kitty scrubs that day—this time the mouthless white cat had a pink instead of red bow, and was winking. "Sorry the food sucks; I thought you'd like this," she said, extending the breakfast treat.

Amanda studied her for a second and accepted the croissant, muttering a sheepish "thanks." Her appetite was still nonexistent, but it was comforting to take a bite of flaky pastry and milk chocolate, to taste something sweet. The nurse tried make conversation with her as she nibbled, asking her how she was feeling, who she was, what she did for a living, and Amanda mumbled a few responses.

"What's with all the Hello Kitty?" the blonde detective finally asked. "You must have figured out by now that this isn't the pediatric ward, " she said dryly, raising her eyebrows at the nurse as one of the male patients down the hall bellowed in anger at staff and let fly some very adult expletives.

Hello Kitty nurse smiled and then went off on a long tangent, in which Amanda found out that Hello Kitty nurse didn't wear Hello Kitty to infantilize the patients, or because she thought they were dependent and childlike and somehow less (Amanda realized that this is what had annoyed her so much about the nurse and her attire at first.) She wore Hello Kitty because she was a bit obsessed with the white cat with a bow, and was an avid collector of all things Sanrio (the Japan-based company that created Hello Kitty and a host of other animal friends, Amanda learned). Amanda raised an eyebrow at the nurse, whose real name was Tanya, as she described the collection of Hello Kitty figurines that lined her windowsill at home. "I have Hello Kitty playing the guitar, Hello Kitty riding a bike, Hello Kitty the ballerina, and Nurse Hello Kitty," the nurse rattled on. "A personal favorite."

"Do they have Hello Kitty for every profession?" Amanda asked. "Maybe they have police officer Hello Kitty. I'd know a colleague who might want a figurine." She smirked, thinking of Carisi, how it'd be funny to put something like that on his desk and watch his reaction, then felt a pang of sadness when she thought about her colleagues and work. She hoped it didn't show on her face. But nurse Tanya was so into the conversation that she didn't ask any prying questions. "She's the cat of all trades, so I bet you could find an Officer Kitty," nurse Tanya continued. "I'm pretty sure I've seen her dressed as a detective—you know, Sherlock Holmes attire, little magnifying glass. Seriously cute. Would you want one of those?"

"I'll pass," Amanda said. "I'm not into Hello Kitty." At Tanya's gasp, she gestured toward the picture of Frannie that Olivia had set up on the nightstand before leaving last night. "Dog Person," she explained. "Anyway, detectives don't hunt clues with magnifying glasses," she said wryly. "And there's nothing cute about my job."

The nurse frowned. "I would imagine not," she said. "What kind of detective are you?"

"Manhattan SVU," Amanda replied, and at the nurse's uncertain stare, she quickly clarified, "Special Victims Unit. I work with victims of sex crimes." She hesitated, unsure why she was sharing anything at all with this quirky nurse. She was lonely, she supposed. "And doing that job—you see some ugly shit."

Tanya winced in sympathy. "Did that contribute to why you're here?" she asked softly.

Amanda stiffened. "Why I'm here is not your business," she said testily.

The nurse gazed at her. "Actually, it is my business, Ms. Rollins," she replied. "I'm a psychiatric nurse, here to work with the patients, and I've seen everyone's charts and histories and admission notes. I already know why you're here. But I am sure there's a lot more to what's in some medical record."

Amanda felt her face flush. "I—okay," she said. "I'm sorry." Humiliation crept over her, realizing that everyone working the small unit knew what she had almost done. Of course they would know—she had lost her right to privacy. "I just don't want to talk about…I can't talk about…"

"It's okay, I get it," Tanya said. "You don't really know me, and you've been through some big stuff lately. I'm just here to talk if you need anything, hon…if and when you're ready. That's all. And to get you eating!" she said, pointing to the half eaten croissant on Amanda's lap. She smiled at her somewhat victory, so that her whole chubby face scrunched up, lines of mirth around her beady eyes. "Do you know Cinnamoroll and Pom Pom Purin? They're Sanrio characters, and they also happen to be puppy dogs."

It seemed to Amanda that everyone was intent on feeding her, which was mildly obnoxious but also made her feel cared for. Olivia showed up at visiting hour with a Santoni's meatball sandwich and fries. "From that place you and Fin love," Olivia announced, putting it on the table where Amanda sat idly, pretending not to wait to see if she had visitors.

Seeing her favorite Santoni's sandwich, Amanda was once again struck by what Olivia had observed about her all those days working together in the precinct, even those times she had seemed aloof and disproving—so, when she and Fin would dally over their carryout lunch instead of turning to the necessary police records and case files, and Olivia would lightly tap their desk and say, "Wrap it up, guys," she was noticing what they ordered for lunch, what they liked to eat. How much more did Olivia Benson know about her likes and dislikes, her habits, her faults and her quirks? For a long stretch of time that they had been working together, Amanda had assumed that Olivia was indifferent to her, only caring about her punctuality and competence on the job, and that she not disobey an order, or go rogue, or otherwise screw up a case. But that was back when Olivia was "Sergeant," and she was "Rollins," back before Amanda had bought her coffee and ate lunch with her and babysat Noah, back before Olivia had pulled her back from the brink of suicide ,and held her in her arms, had sat at her hospital bedside until she fell asleep. Their relationship had shifted.

"Hey, Liv," Amanda said softly, her lips quirking upward in an involuntary smile. "You didn't have to come again. I have my clothes."

"I know, and now you have some food," Olivia said with a return smile. "If you're going to get stronger and feeling better, you need to be eating, Amanda."

The fact that her favorite plaid shirt was so baggy in the sleeves must be a giveaway, Amanda supposed. It was too loose on her slender arms, once lean with muscle, and her jeans were suddenly in need of a belt. She had seen herself wasting in the mirror as the weeks went by—the gray tint under her eyes, the sunken cheeks, her petite frame that had once been fit becoming frail. Amanda enjoyed food, and always had, especially chocolate and desserts—it was the persistent lack of appetite that was the problem, and that lately her body craved alcohol and cigarettes and spins on the roulette wheel more than anything to eat. She shrugged. "I guess. I mean, thanks, Liv. I appreciate you bringing me dinner. It's better than the pathetic excuse for a hamburger that they tried to feed us tonight. I don't even think it was beef."

Olivia nodded in sympathy as Amanda unwrapped the sub and made herself take a bite. The sweet marinara sauce and gooey mozzarella piqued her appetite just the slightest. "You know, Fin asked about you," Liv commented. "I told him I was taking you a sandwich, and he wanted to know how you were. I told him that you needed time to yourself, and you'd contact him when you're ready. But I'm sure he'd love to hear from you. He cares, Amanda," Olivia said.

Amanda played with the sandwich wrap. "I know," she said. "But I really want this to stay private, Liv. You can understand that, right?"

"Of course," Olivia responded. "But the squad wants to know how you're doing. You have a lot of people on your side. No one would judge you for any of this, Amanda."

"Yeah…I guess," Amanda said, trying to keep the quiver out of her voice. "I can't wait to get out of here, Olivia. I'm bored out of my mind. There's nothing to do but wander around and talk to my nurse about Hello Kitty and the Sanray characters."

"Sanrio, hon," Tanya said, wagging her finger playfully at Amanda as she walked by carrying a stack of patient charts. "And for the record, she didn't sound so dismissive when she was considering buying the Cinnamoroll plush I showed her on Amazon."

"Yeah…for Noah," Amanda shot back defensively, and Olivia raised her eyebrows at that. "My son, Noah?" Olivia asked. "Yet another person who wants to spoil him with toys?" But her smile was warm. "What is a Cinna—what's it called?"

"Cinnamoroll," Amanda muttered. "It's a little white puppy with floppy ears and a curly tail. Noah seemed to love his Clifford dog, so…" she shrugged, not sure what to say. Antsy, with nothing to do, she had glanced at cell phone pictures of Sanrio's canine characters with nurse Tanya during one of her spare moments between patients. Checking out the plush line of admittedly cute anime dogs for purchase, she had thought of Olivia's little boy. "I bet My Sergeant's son would love this," she had said, and if she had access to her credit card, she would have bought him a stuffed animal.

"I'm sure Noah would have love it. He likes making Clifford go "woof". And he _loves_ Frannie," Olivia reiterated.

"That's why I wanted you and him to have her," Amanda answered, without thinking, and Olivia reached out and squeezed her hand. "Frannie needs _you_," Olivia emphasized.

Amanda urged Olivia to go home to her son, then, but she must not have sounded too convincing, because Liv stayed and they talked. Amanda asked about some of Noah's first words (Ma and dog and moo and woof). Liv told Amanda how she had teared up the first time he called her "Ma."

"I'll bet that was amazing for you," Amanda said. "I remember when Kim took her first steps. I was six. My mom, she didn't see it happen. She was… sleepin', I guess. And Kim…she was crawling towards me across the carpet, and just kinda pulled herself up by the edge of the coffee table in the middle of the room till she was standing. And then she smiled at me and just started walking, just like that. Her steps were real shaky, and I thought she was gonna fall, and that if I made any sudden movements, she would lose her balance. So I just held my hands out to her and said, 'come here.' She wobbled her way over to me that I could lift her up. I was so proud. I have never felt so proud."

Amanda swallowed hard, then, momentarily overcome with emotion. This was a memory she had never shared with anyone, but that meant something to her. All those years ago, when she was looking after a screaming, colicky baby when she was just a child herself, she had felt so inadequate, so terrified that she would drop Kim, or hit her head on something, or forget to feed her. The first time her Mom had passed out on pills and slept through Kim's hungry wails and shrieks, Amanda had tried to give her sister a bottle, and had titled it too fast, causing the baby to cough and sputter and spit up, and her little face to scrunch up and turn red. Amanda was terrified that she had somehow drowned her with the milk, and the memory stuck with her for a long time. But then Kim had walked—she had walked straight to Amanda, had walked _because_ of Amanda. It had filled the little girl with a sense of awe and importance—and incredible responsibility.

"Your sister—you think of her a lot?" Olivia asked.

Amanda nodded. "A lot."

The conversation turned quiet after that, until Olivia spontaneously asked if Amanda wanted to play a board game, taking her cue from the family next to them, who had broken out the Scrabble from the basket of games and cards available for patients. It was about all there was to do on the ward other than watching TV. Amanda gave her a teasing smile. "I don't know, Liv. I'm _really _competitive. And don't you have anything better to do than sitting in the pysch ward playing Pictionary? Like getting home to your son?"

"I didn't say anything about Pictionary." Olivia answered. "I saw a game of Clue over there. And who said I'm not competitive?"

"Clue, huh?," Amanda said. "Was that your favorite game as a kid? Is that how you knew you wanted to be a detective?"

"Yes…because the game of Clue is totally equivalent to what we do," Olivia scoffed.

Together, for the last twenty minutes of visiting hour, they solved a very tame—and _lame,_ Amanda kept teasing-murder mystery together, Amanda taking on the role of Ms. Scarlett, and Olivia selecting Professor Plum. "Professors can be fucking perverts," Amanda said, thinking of Professor Mackey and Jewel. "I think you chose the guilty game piece." The banter continued for the rest of the game until Liv declared victory, indicting her very own Professor Plum, in the Library, with the rope.

"I was right," Amanda said sulkily. "It _was _pervy Plum."

"For a game you think is so lame, you sure seem kind of put out that I won," Liv teased. The grin lingered on Amanda's face until visiting hour was over and her Sergeant had to leave.


	12. Chapter 12

**A/N: This chapter contains dark and potentially triggering material. **

**Chapter 12**

The following day, Amanda did a lot of pacing around the ward, becoming increasingly agitated and restless with every passing hour. To start with, it hadn't occurred to her that since her 72-hour observation period happened to end on a Sunday, she would have to wait until Monday to be evaluated and released by a psychiatrist. She should have known, of course, from all of Kim's hospital stays—patients were rarely discharged on Sundays or holidays. But this meant that she had to be inpatient an entire day more than she had planned, and this made her more than on edge. Worse, she had not had an easy night's sleep since she had been admitted to the small crisis unit, with the constant room checks, the ever-lit hallways, and occasional announcements and codes on the overhead pager. For the most part, she only dozed, and this shallow, uneven sleep had kept her from dreaming. But, the night before, she had fallen into a nightmare. Amanda watched Professor William Mackey raping his student, Jewel Matthews, up against his mahogany desk. The Professor grinded into her roughly, and the young girl braced herself against the edges of the desk with both hands, head lolling backwards, tears streaking her face, staring at Amanda with her big hazel eyes. Amanda stood there and stared back. She cried silently with Jewel. But she said nothing. Did nothing.

"Hello darlin." He drawled in her ear, breathing on her neck, his breath of smelling of bourbon, as it did the night of the motel. Amanda jerked around to face the man with a terrifying hold on her, after all these years. "Let's leave them to it…my office?" Amanda nodded, turned her back on the victim, and followed Patton from the room. Out the door was pitch dark nothingness. Amanda realized what she had done and who she was with, and skidded to a stop, but Patton clamped a hand over her wrist and yanked her forward into the black abyss.

Amanda had had more graphic, worse nightmares—but this one left her inexplicably screaming and shaking, so much so that when one of the nosy nurses offered a PRN, she had accepted, and let the Ativan dull her senses and put her into a sleepy stupor for the rest of the night. The next day, she had been okay until the medicine started to wear off, leaving her more jumpy and skittish than before, and more than ready to be released from this place. She had done her three nights. And then Nurse Tanya had reminded her of what day it was. "You're not gettin' out today, hon," she had said, during vitals, "The psychiatrist doesn't work Sundays."

Amanda yanked her arm out of the blood pressure cuff, incredulous. "I have been penned up in this place for my 72 hours," Amanda said. "My time here is over." She hadn't even realized she had raised her voice until the patient waiting behind her muttered at her to shut up.

Nurse Tanya regarded her with her squinty gaze. "When you are admitted through the emergency room, you are _evaluated_ after 72 hours, Amanda. Our psychiatrist, Dr. Porter, decides whether you're safe to be discharged or not. You might be able to go home—or you could be admitted longer."

Amanda felt a surge of panic. Tanya wanted to take her temp and pulse, too, but she refused and rushed back to her room. Her roommate, Katie, moaned as Amanda stormed in, rolling over to look at Amanda with dull blue eyes. Katie didn't speak, Katie didn't even get out bed unless she was going to the bathroom, but Amanda looked at her roommate with severe depression and said, "Katie, they're keeping me here." The words sounded strangled.

She pulled on the Nikes that Olivia had brought her and then took off down the corridor at a jog, sneakers squeaking on hospital tile. When she felt trapped in her apartment, alone, she usually went for a run around the block, or did yoga. Now, she was so desperate to move that she didn't care how ridiculous she looked going for an indoor jog, and would have torn around the unit all day had the secretary at the nurses' station not told her "no running."

"I need some damn exercise," she shot back, thumping the counter in frustration, but forced herself to slow to a brisk powerwalk. _Monday, Monday, Monday, Monday. _She repeated the word to herself with each step, as if willing the day to come quicker. She just had to get out of here Monday. She knew how the discharge process worked—you had to answer a prompt and immediate "no" to the question _Do You Have Any Thoughts of Hurting Yourself or Others?_ You had to be contrite, rehabilitated, profess to attend therapy and take medications and generally be a good and compliant patient. Kim had been hospitalized enough times to know how to sweet talk the doctors and nurses at her commitment hearings or evaluations so as to be released from psychiatric care. But Kim was a master manipulator, and Amanda was blunt and to the point and sometimes spoke first and then thought later.

If only she could emulate Kim now, talk to her, get tips and advice on how she could escape this confinement. She swallowed the bitterness and hurt at the thought of her sister—growing up, she had visited Kim in the hospital every time she had been inpatient. A foolish part of Amanda had hoped that Kim would do the same for her, now that she was in the same situation. That her sister, on the run from the law, consumed with drugs and sex and her own dark impulses, would know to come and see her. So far, though, Amanda's only visitor had been Liv.

Liv. Amanda's heart sped up as soon she thought of her Sergeant, quickened by both angry distrust and a longing to see her. Deep inside, she resented Olivia for in many ways saving her life, for insisting that she be admitted to the hospital. Yet, at the same time, she craved Liv's kindness and her company, her comfort. It was something she wanted as much as she might want gambling, or alcohol, or cigarettes- and she was terrified. What if her desire for Liv was just as dangerous? This was something she had never experienced before. She had always been fiercely independent, perfectly fine being on her own.

Amanda stopped pacing to lean against the wall outside another patient's room, hands on her knees as she tried to catch her breath. Anyway, she doubted she'd see Olivia today, for visiting hour. Sundays were Olivia's day with Noah, the only full day she got with her son, and even then, she sometimes got called in for a case and had to contact Lucy. It was the nature of being Sergeant. Amanda resigned herself to a day of isolation and resumed her path around the unit.

* * *

Olivia didn't come to visiting hour, but she did call later that afternoon. Amanda took the payphone receiver from nurse Tanya, her heart hammering in her chest. "Liv?" she asked, trying to keep her voice from shaking.

"Hey Amanda, how you holding up?"

"Not great," Amanda said honestly. "I can't sit still."

"Your breathing sounds heavy. Do you feel anxious? Maybe there's something they could give you to help you calm down."

The comment offended and angered Amanda, even though she had accepted Ativan the night before, after her nightmare. "I'm not some mental case that needs medication, Olivia," she snapped.

"Amanda. That's not what I said," Olivia admonished. "I'm just suggesting that you take care of yourself, that you ask the nurses and the doctors for help if you aren't feeling well."

"I'm only not feeling well because I'm trapped here."

Olivia didn't reply, and silence stretched between them on the line. Amanda gripped the receiver, which was quickly growing slick with sweat. "Why did you call?" she demanded, her voice quivering with emotion.

"I wanted to see how you were," Liv said softly.

"I don't need you to check up on me."

"Okay, Amanda. Alright. You're obviously angry right now. I get that. But, I think maybe it makes sense for us to talk later, when you've gotten ahold of yourself," Liv said. Amanda could hear a twinge of hurt in her voice.

"What's going on with Mackey and the trial?" Amanda burst out, unbidden. She didn't know she was going to ask the question until it left her mouth. Since her nightmare about Professor Mackey and Patton the night before, she had deliberately forced the thought of either of the two men from her mind, but suddenly they were all she could think about. "I haven't seen anything more on the news. How many more victims have come forward?"

"I'm not discussing the trial with you," Olivia said firmly. "You're in the hospital."

"Why the hell does that matter?" Amanda shot back.

"I told you I'm not having this discussion. I need to go, Amanda. I was called into the precinct, so I missed half my day with Noah. I don't have the time to argue with you. I need to get home to my son."

Amanda swelled with rage. "So you're not going to tell me any information. How many girls did that bastard call into his office for sex?" Amanda pressed. Her heart banged in her chest. "How many, Liv? Will you even tell me that much? How many lives were ruined? This was my case, too. I have every right to know."

"And I have every reason not to talk about this case with you, Amanda!" Olivia exclaimed, exasperated. "You worked this case and then went home with plans to put a gun to your head!"

Amanda breathed in so sharply that she made a whistling sound into the phone. _I did put the gun to my head, _she wanted to say, but she had lost her ability to speak.

She heard a long, heavy sigh on the other end of the line. "I'm so sorry you're going through this, Amanda. I really am. But I can't have you involved in cases right now, not in the state you're in, not before you're ready. It wouldn't be right as your commanding officer. It wouldn't be right of me as your friend."

Tears dribbled down Amanda's cheeks. "We're not friends," she choked out, and then slammed down the receiver.

* * *

Amanda lay on her back, silent, back in her room with Katie. But though her body was still, her mind was reeling. She knew what her future held, now. It was clear that when she got released from the hospital, she would not have a job for a long time. Liv would not let her work cases—would not even talk cases with her. Her time without work, without purpose, was indefinite. And, she was alone. Olivia Benson was out of her life.

Amanda evaluated what she would do next. Step one, get out of the hospital tomorrow. Step 2-Step 2 she had to think more about. One idea was to take to the road, to drive clear out of New York and head South, in search of her sister. She could pack up everything she owned into her little Sedan. Frannie would ride in the passenger seat, and they would live out of motel rooms and subsist on cheap fast food and travel the country seeking out Kim. But then her chest tightened, because she knew her sister didn't want to be found. Her sister had cleared out her apartment, stolen everything she had owned, and been on the run for months.

It wasn't the first time she had run from Amanda, either. The first time was when Kim was 15 and Amanda had just turned 21. Kim loved to drink and smoke cigarettes in the back of a pickup truck with two neighborhood boys, and now that her big sister was legal to buy alcohol, she was determined to have Amanda go to the liquor store for her, so that she could impress the boys with a case of beer. Amanda refused, the two fought, and Kim had screamed and raged then threatened to go to the railroad tracks a mile from their house and jump in front of a train. She tore outside and sprinted through the field behind their house, Amanda in pursuit, arms pumping wildly as she chased her sister through the tall grass, ears straining for the whistle of the train, desperate to grab her before she reached the tracks.

As Amanda re-played this moment in her head, the memory suddenly warped into an idea. She wondered what it would be like to throw herself in front of the train at Grand Central Station. She wouldn't have her gun when she got out of the hospital—Olivia had seen to that. But, she could drink a lot of alcohol till she was calm and numb, and then leap out onto the tracks at just the right moment. Never mind what happened to her body—she likely wouldn't feel much, would she? The train would obliterate her.

Amanda had her Step 2.


	13. Chapter 13

**Chapter 13**

Amanda lay awake the rest of the night, rehearsing the next day. After she was out of the hospital, she would need to put some things down in writing first, before she went to Grand Central. She wasn't about to make the same mistakes twice. First, she would make sure to secure a home for Frannie. This should be relatively easy—she had already chosen Olivia and Noah as her new family. Olivia was already walking her and feeding her; she would just make sure to seal the arrangement on paper. Second, what little money she had, her possessions, she would leave to Kim, her sister. She would write that she loved her, and would ask that she use the money for rehab and treatment. It made her sad to know that Kim probably would never do so—on the contrary, every cent would probably go to drugs and alcohol. But she couldn't leave her sister behind with nothing—she would try to save her, to pick her up one last time.

Because the blinds to their window were always drawn, the lights in the hallway were always on, and Katie hardly ever moved, Amanda had little sense of time, or when night became day. She was determined to keep her eyes wide open, to not fall asleep and dream. She didn't want Patton near her, touching her, taunting her in the time she had left. But even awake, she was scared. On several instances, when an aide stopped to peer in the room for thirty minute checks, shadowing the doorway, she startled and twitched on the bed, heart hammering. Each time, she would close her eyes and pretend to be still and asleep—she didn't want to be pressured or tempted into taking any medication; she had to be vigilant and ready to execute her plan tomorrow. But, then when a tall figure about Patton's height stood in the entrance to her room, writing something on a clipboard, she cried out, and when her eyes fluttered shut, the tears pooled behind her closed lids and threatened to fall.

_"Take off your clothes, Amanda,"_ he commanded. _"Take off your clothes so I can take notes."_

"Ms. Rollins? Ms. Rollins, Dr. Porter's coming for your appointment after breakfast." the male voice was African American, not Southern. Her eyes shot open in the still dark room. "Don't come any closer!" she gasped, trying to make out the figure in the door. "Stay back!"

The male nurse in mint green scrubs flipped the switch just inside the doorway, and the small space was flooded with light. Amanda heard a muffled grunt from Katie, her blankets ruffling as she shifted on the mattress. "I'm sorry, Ma'am. But the psychiatrist will be here to evaluate you," he said. He was basketball player height, and had big, almond eyes. They were kind eyes, but still, Amanda trembled on the bed, blinking against the brightness. "Where's Hello Kitty nurse?" she asked.

The man's eyebrows drew together in confusion, and Amanda realized she had let her nickname for her nurse slip out, and that he had no idea who she was talking about. "Tanya," she corrected, finally remembering her real name, the room spinning as she rapidly pulled herself out of bed. "Where is she? What time is it?"

7 a.m., Ms. Rollins. Breakfast in fifteen."

"I don't want breakfast," Amanda shot back. "I'm leaving this morning."

The man studied her, pulled the clipboard out from under his arm, and scratched something on paper with a pen. Amanda crossed her arms in front of her pajama top, trying to conceal her breasts, her body. "Please, look away, stop writing." She whimpered. _"Please."_

"Ma'am? Ms. Rollins?" the nurse asked. "It's alright. I need to check off that you refused a meal."

Arms still banded around herself, Amanda quickly dashed past him into the hallway. She nearly banged headlong into nurse Tanya, wearing Hello Kitty scrubs that were bubble gum pink. "He took notes," she burst out. She let out a broken sob.

"Hey, hey, kitten," Tanya soothed. She reached out to steady Amanda, who was shaky on her feet, and Amanda shrieked and backed away. "Okay. It's okay. What are you talking about?"

Amanda let out a shaky breath. "I—I thought…"

"Come on. Let's go sit behind the nurse's station. Come sit with me and we'll wait for the doctor. "

Amanda trailed obediently behind Tanya, face awash with tears. The doctor was her way out. _Grand Central. _She clung desperately to her final destination, no longer fearful of what would happen on the tracks. The sooner the train bore down on her, the sooner her thoughts would cease.

Hello Kitty nurse unlocked the built-in door to the nurse's station and pulled up a swivel chair for Amanda. "Sit down, hon," she said. "It's all gonna be okay." Nurse Tanya knelt in front of Amanda, who was still clutching herself. "Can you give me your arm? I just want to take your pulse and blood pressure." Very, very gently, she uncurled one of Amanda's arms and slowly slid up her pajama sleeve, mindful of the healing cigarette burns. She put two index fingers against the inside of her wrist, counted. She then retrieved the blood pressure cuff, but before she applied it to Amanda's arm, she gently stroked a hand through her hair. "Can you tell me what's wrong?" she whispered.

The terrible secret burst past Amanda's lips before she could stop it. "He asked me to take my clothes off, and then he took notes. He wrote down a list of all the things he wanted to do to me."

Nurse Tanya straightened. "Who, babe?" she asked, her voice tight with alarm. "Do I need to call the police, or security?"

Amanda shook her head after moment. "It happened a long time ago," she whispered.

Tanya reached out a plump hand to stroke back more hair that had fallen in her face, and Amanda accepted the gesture. It might be one of the last times someone touched her. "I'm gonna go talk to Dr. Porter, Amanda," she said softly.

* * *

The psychiatrist, Dr. Porter, was a much older man with a narrow chin and a receding hairline, his hair grandfather grey. It took everything for Amanda to walk into the small exam room with a round table where they would be meeting, and to sit across from this stranger. She gripped the edge of the table so hard her knuckles turned white. The doctor carried a hefty clipboard and accordion file of paperwork. He sat down, took a pair of reading glasses out of the pocket of his white coat, and put them on to flip through several pages on the clipboard. Notes about her, Amanda guessed, from her admission, and observations from the doctors and nurses. She wondered what Patton had done with the "notes" he took after she had stripped on command in his office. Had he saved them and read them for years after, pleasuring himself with the memory of his power over her, becoming aroused at all the filthy things he wrote down? He had done some of the things on the list to her, during other office visits, but she had fled Atlanta before he could carry out all his plans for her body. Maybe he had shared what he had written with colleagues, and they had laughed at her, believing that she was good for everything on the list, no matter how degrading, that she would do anything Patton wanted, do anything to get ahead. She bit down so hard on her lip that she tasted the salt of blood.

"Ms. Rollins, you don't look well," said the doctor, who was soft spoken with a Brooklyn accent. "Your nurse told me you have had a rough morning. Can you tell me a little bit more about what happened? Tanya is very concerned that you may have been assaulted or sexually abused."

"I was…taken advantage of sexually by a colleague years ago," Amanda finally answered, realizing that her flashbacks and nightmares on the unit had given her away, and that there was no lying her way out of this. "I've been struggling to deal with it. But I'm fine, doctor," she said. "I'd like to leave now." She wanted to sound firm, but there was a pleading note in her voice.

The doctor studied her, peering at her over the lens of his reading glasses. "You are here because you are contemplating suicide, is that right, Ms. Rollins?"

"Yes," Amanda answered, and then immediately realized she had answered incorrectly. "I mean, no," she stammered. "I mean, I_ was_ contemplating-" she paused, her face on fire, then started again. "I'm here because my commanding officer insisted I be evaluated a few days ago. I'm a police detective, and she took my gun so I would be safe."

"You planned to shoot yourself," the doctor said bluntly.

Amanda nodded. "I—had thoughts of shooting myself, yes."

"This is extremely serious." Dr. Porter said, continuously to the point. "I understand you also have self-inflicted burns from cigarettes, so you have been actively self harming."

"Is there a question in there somewhere?" Amanda demanded, exasperated.

"Yes. Why did you consider suicide, Ms. Rollins?" the doctor asked.

Sleep-deprived, worn thin, Amanda was not prepared to answer this question. She settled on the simplest version of the truth. "My life became unlivable," she murmured.

"Do you wish you had completed suicide?"

"No," Amanda said, but she realized that she had delivered the lie a second too late. The doctor gazed at her knowingly for a long minute and folded his hands on the table.

"I'm not a danger to myself or others," Amanda said, raising her voice without realizing it. "It's my right to be released!"

"Ms. Rollins, frankly, I'm not convinced that you don't pose a danger to yourself. Staff report that you've been refusing meals, not sleeping, pacing, and that you have not attended any of the psychotherapy groups on the unit. Your forearms are covered in cigarette burns. You also work in law enforcement, and so are presumably in touch with many other people who carry firearms, giving you easy access to a highly lethal means of suicide," he said. "I don't think discharging you at this stage is wise. In fact, I'm concerned that you need more specialized care than we can provide on this unit, and am recommending that we transfer you."

"You have to be fucking kidding me," Amanda choked out. Her chest had grown so tight that it was hard to breathe. "I'm _leaving."_

"I'll be arranging for your transfer to the PTSD and trauma unit at Bellevue Hospital. Your nurse reports that you startle upon touch, have flashbacks and nightmares, and that you dissociate. Based on your self-reports of sexual trauma, I think that you can benefit from a week of mandated therapy and observation there, and further evaluation for PTSD."

"You can't—you can't send me to Bellevue," Amanda sputtered in disbelief. "My squad—SVU- works that trauma unit. _I've_ been on that unit, and know some staff that work there. There's no way in hell you can admit me. What if one of my colleagues arrives to interview a victim?"

"I can understand the dilemma with that, Ms. Rollins. But we will communicate the situation with staff and do everything necessary to ensure confidentiality. Considering how you typically work with victims and survivors of trauma—it might be understandably uncomfortable for you having those roles reversed, and suddenly being the one in need of care and counsel. But I am convinced that this is the treatment you need."

Amanda's body went cold as the doctor stood up from the table, his decision obviously made. She lurched to her feet, the chair skidding as she rose abruptly. "When?" she asked, barely above a whisper. "When am I being transferred?"

"Within an hour or two. We can easily arrange for your transfer via ambulance, so you should be there this afternoon. I wish you continued recovery, Ms. Rollins."

Amanda ignored Dr. Porter's hand, outstretched for a handshake, and walked out of the exam room and back into the unit hallway, quiet until she had reached the bathroom and splashed some water on her face. Slowly, her eyes rose to meet her reflection in the mirror, and a blood curdling scream tore from her throat. She bashed her head against the shatterproof glass as hard as she could. She fell to her knees, then, and deliberately cracked her skull against the sink, pounding her head against the unyielding porcelain again and again and again, until the surface with slick with blood, screaming with each blow. She would bash her head clean off if she had to—whatever it took to die.

About three nurses and a security guard ran into her room at once, rushing for her, someone shoving a pillow between the sink and her head. It seemed that a million hands were all over her at once, touching her, grabbing at her, and she fought with everything she had. She stood up and threw an elbow into someone's nose, kicked someone's shin, and felt her fist collide into the soft pudge of someone's abdomen. One of the male nurses managed to twist her arms behind her back, effectively immobilizing her. The wails and shrieks that Amanda let out were inhuman, and she writhed and kicked in the man's grasp until everything went black.

* * *

When Amanda opened her eyes, she was lying flat on her back, a lumpy mattress beneath her. But when she went to sit up, she found that she couldn't—her wrists and ankles were bound by what felt like thick leather. She was pinned to a bed. Amanda began trembling uncontrollably and whimpered. Patton had cuffed her before for sex, and now he must have tied her up. Why would she _ever_ go back to the motel with him a second time? How stupid could she be? Weren't the meetings in his office enough?

"Shhh." Someone hushed. "You're okay, hon."

Amanda turned towards the voice, and the movement caused a searing pain in her head. She stared up into a somewhat familiar pudgy face, through vision that seemed to be blurred by more than just her tears. "Who—who are you?" she stuttered, disoriented. "Please, get me out of here."

"It's Tanya, babe. I'm your nurse. Do you know where you are?"

"Some motel," Amanda whimpered. "He's tied me up this time."

"No, hon, you're in the hospital. Manhattan General. I'm sorry about the gurney restraints—they're temporary, for your safety during the ambulance ride. There's too much risk you'll hurt yourself during transport." Tanya was gingerly using a cloth to sponge away dried blood that had crusted by Amanda's hairline, and the blonde detective winced. "You banged yourself up pretty good," she murmured. "As soon as you get to Bellevue, they'll evaluate you for a concussion again. Since you blacked out, it's highly probable you have one."

Amanda shuddered, trying to catch her breath, her head aching fiercely with every inhale. "I—I hurt. I'm scared," she said, whimpering like a small child. She hadn't yet remembered banging her own head— in her dazed state, she associated the pain with having her head slammed against the headboard, or the desk in Patton's office.

"What can I do? What do you need?" Tanya asked.

The words were out of her mouth before she could stop herself. "I want Liv," she pleaded.

* * *

The pounding in her head made it hard for Amanda to keep her eyes open in the light, so she let them flutter closed for an unknown amount of time, shaking, shuddering, and trying to hold back full-on sobs as she lay with her limbs restricted. Suddenly, she felt a warm hand close around her own. She gasped, and her eyes flew open and met Olivia's.

"It's okay, Amanda...it's okay," her Sergeant instantly soothed, her voice soft, honeyed. "I'm here, sweetheart."

"Liv?" Amanda asked, incredulous that she had come. She let out a sob of disbelief.

"Yes, sweetie. It's Liv. Shhh, don't cry. It'll hurt your head."

"Liv, please untie me. Don't let him hurt me anymore," she wept, confused again.

"Shhh," Olivia hushed. "You're safe. I promise you, you're safe," she said, her voice strained with emotion. She squeezed Amanda's hand tighter, glancing over her shoulder, as if looking for someone.

"Excuse me... is there any way can we get these restraints off of her?" she asked, motioning Tanya over. "She's having a flashback, and pinning her down isn't helping. "

"Believe me, I know, Sergeant Benson," Tanya replied. "But it's protocol for the ambulance, so she doesn't do herself serious injury."

"What if I ride with her in the ambulance, get on the gurney, and hold her?" Olivia asked. "I have the strength and training to restrain her safely if she struggles or tries to hurt herself."

Nurse Tanya murmured something Amanda couldn't hear and walked away briskly, and Amanda clutched desperately at Olivia's hand, worried that she was leaving, too. "It's okay, I won't let go," Olivia soothed. With her other hand, she used the pad of the thumb to wipe away Amanda's tears, since she was unable to wipe them herself.

A minute later, Nurse Tanya returned. "I have approval for you to ride with her," she declared. "We'll wheel her down to the ambulance bay and into the ambulance, and then we'll take off the restraints."

Amanda cried softly as Tanya and another nurse wheeled the gurney, continuing to whimper as they left the unit, sidled onto the elevator, and rode down to the ambulance bay. Her head hurt so much, and all the jostling wasn't helping. Olivia kept murmuring to her. "It's okay honey. Hang in there. We're almost there."

Once Amanda's gurney had been lifted into the ambulance, Olivia drew close to Amanda. "Sweetie, the nurse is going to undo the restraints; will you let me sit with you and hold you for the ride? I'll just hold you, and rock you, and keep you safe." As soon as Amanda nodded her assent, nurse Tanya undid the restraints with a key. Amanda heard a click, felt the straps give. Her wrists and ankles were no longer bound. She bolted up straight, despite the intense pain in her head, and pulled her knees up close to her body, making room for Olivia. Olivia hoisted herself up onto the small gurney and opened her arms to Amanda, letting her be the one to choose when to be touched. And Amanda only hesitated a second before closing the gap between them.


	14. Chapter 14

**Chapter 14**

Amanda put up no fight or resistance during the ambulance ride. Instead, she clung to Olivia, cradled in her lap, while the older woman gently rocked her and comforted her. Scared, exhausted, and in pain, she sobbed softly, and Olivia shushed her repeatedly, trying to spare her the excruciating headache that came with crying. There was traffic, so it took them about twenty minutes to travel the short distance across the city to Bellevue. About halfway through the trip, Amanda finally started to quiet in Olivia's arms, the gasping sobs turning to silent tears. "That's it, honey," Olivia whispered. "Just relax and calm down."

And Amanda did calm, Olivia having nearly rocked her to sleep. But then, the ambulance came to a stop, and Liv very gently tried to shift her out of her lap, to lie her down so that the paramedics could prepare to move her. Amanda clutched at her desperately, whimpering in fear and protest.

"Shhh, sweetheart," Olivia soothed. "We need to take you inside, and have a doctor take a look at your head. I'm coming inside the hospital with you," she promised.

Still, Amanda had never felt a separation so keenly then when Olivia gently pried her off of her and lowered her down onto the gurney, and the warm arms were no longer around her. Dazed, head throbbing, everything spinning, a memory came to her that she had forgotten. She was a little girl, aged five, who had just had a nightmare, and had crawled into her mother's bed. Though she could smell the whiskey on her breath, her mouth hanging open as she snored, young Amanda had still tried to snuggle under her arm for some comfort, and her mother had let out an intoxicated moan and shoved her away so hard she fell off the bed. She remembered her stomach plunging as she rolled off the mattress, and felt the same way now after all those years, the same sensation of falling, the same shocked betrayal. She sobbed brokenly, everything confused in her head.

"Sweetie, I'm here, I promise," Olivia said. She slipped her hand into Amanda's, squeezing gently. "See? I've got you."

"Why did you push me away?" she demanded weakly. Olivia murmured something that she couldn't hear, then—her ears were ringing, and she blacked out.

* * *

Bright-everything was suddenly bright. The blinding pinpoint of light bore into her right eye, and she flinched. A gloved finger prying open one of her eyelids moved to peel back the other lid, and the light bounced to the left and hit her square in the pupil. She twitched and tried to pull away, a hollow ringing still in her ears, everything muffled.

"Pupils responsive. She's responsive."

Amanda tried to sit up and cried out with pain and fear, flopping down onto the gurney, her head spinning. People were surrounding her—two male figures stood on either side of her, tall and imposing, and she was terrified. Liv had let go of her hand. She had promised to not let go. She reached out desperately to empty air as another man bent over her. He had clear blue eyes, and his mouth was stretched in a frown.

"She's agitated," said a deep male voice to her right. "She's a transfer from Manhattan General Psychiatric. Repeated blunt force trauma to the head, self-inflicted. She fell unconscious again for 5 minutes."

"Is she okay? a frantic voice sounded from behind her. It sounded like Olivia, but it was hard to tell over the ringing. "Liv—" Amanda croaked out, her throat impossibly dry. "Please—Liv—help me…"

"Honey, I'm here—the paramedics and the doctor need to take a look at you. Please, try to lie still." Amanda was trying to twist around on the gurney, trying to crane her neck to see Olivia, but a wave of dizziness caused her to curl up on her side and clutch at her head.

"I sat her up to hold her and comfort her on the ride over, because I thought it was okay to move her," Olivia said, and she sounded completely on the verge of tears. "Could I have aggravated any injuries she has?"

"Sergeant, she was cleared for spinal cord injuries on the X-Ray before her transfer from Manhattan General, and it was cleared for you to sit with her—gently moving her or adjusting her shouldn't have done any harm," said one of the men to the left, a black man with a beard and gentle baritone, who Amanda dimly realized must be one of the paramedics. Her heart clenched for Liv—none of this was her fault, and all of it was Amanda's. Hot tears welled up in her eyes and overflowed down her cheeks.

"You've got a lot of bruising and swelling, Ms. Rollins, and a nasty gash," the man standing in front of her said. Through blurred vision, she glimpsed a white coat. A _Doctor,_ Amanda tried to tell herself, desperate to keep her grip on the present, and remind herself she was safe. "What do you remember from today? Do you remember trying to hurt yourself?"

Amanda paused a long moment, then nodded, biting her lower lip in shame.

"And what happened after that?"

Amanda heart began to pick up tempo. "He—he tied me to the bed," she said, her voice trembling. The doctor froze in his examinations. "Liv—is he gone?"

"She's confused; she's been having flashbacks to a sexual assault," Olivia interjected. The paramedics moved out of the way to let her approach the gurney. "It's alright, Amanda," she said softly. "No one is here that wants to hurt you." Amanda turned and reached toward Olivia, and Olivia cupped her trembling hand in both of hers.

The curtain to the exam room whooshed open, and clunky footsteps approached them. "Hey Sergeant—I got the go-ahead to drive over here to check on her, see if there was any more information I could give, seeing as she's been in my care."

A robust figure stood behind Olivia, and through her hazy vision, Amanda recognized bubble gum pink scrubs, patterned with white, whiskered cats. Nurse Tanya. Her crazy, kooky, Hello Kitty nurse. Amanda would have smiled had everything not hurt so much.

"Hey, kitten," Nurse Tanya said, approaching to stand gurney-side with Olivia, and at Amanda's raised eyebrow, she said, "okay, okay…you can be puppy dog instead, if you like."

"Do you know how long she was unconscious the first time she passed out?" the doctor asked.

"About 2 minutes," Nurse Tanya answered promptly. "We had to-" she softened her voice considerably and carefully chose her words to save Amanda any embarrassment -"take means to keep her safe and still, and then cleaned the head laceration and took her for X-ray." She turned to Amanda. "You remember that, Amanda? You were really upset." She lowered her voice to a discreet whisper, then, so that certainly only Amanda and the doctor and Olivia could hear. "You kept yelling that you wanted to die."

Amanda stared blankly at Tanya.

"I think there's been some memory loss, definitely some confusion" Tanya declared, turning to the doctor.

Suddenly, without warning, intense nausea rippled through Amanda, and she roughly withdrew her hand from Olivia's grasp, gagging, trying to cover her mouth. One of the paramedics seized a plastic basin and gave it to her to hold as she heaved and spit up clear fluids and bile(her belly was empty). Olivia put a warm palm against her back, and Nurse Tanya quickly untwisted a fluffy pink hair tie she wore on her wrist, preparing to do up her hair if need be. Amanda's stomach twisted and twisted uselessly. Finally, when the spasms were over, she flopped back down on the gurney, the room whirling round and round like an out-of-control carousel. She could hear voices, but they were indistinguishable now, the ringing louder in her ears. The light in the room dimmed, and her eyelids fell closed.

"Amanda? Amanda!" Amanda heard from afar. Olivia was cradling her clammy hand in both of hers again, massaging it repeatedly, willing her awake. Amanda's eyes fluttered open and sought out her Sergeant's...her _friend's_… concerned gaze.

"She's slipping in and out of consciousness " the doctor said. We need to do a head CT and then an MRI, to check to see if further swelling or brain bleed has developed. This doesn't develop until later sometimes, and I'm concerned with how her symptoms are progressing. I'm upgrading this from a concussion to a moderate traumatic brain injury, potentially severe."

"Oh, Amanda," Olivia said, definitely tearful at this point. "You've hurt yourself so badly, Sweetheart." Amanda looked her head away from Liv, too ashamed to meet her gaze. The tears were trekking down her cheeks, and her nose was running, like a little kid's. "I need a tissue," she mumbled, swiping her nose, and her fingers came away stained red.

"She's bleeding!" Olivia exclaimed.

The doctor came over and knelt beside Amanda's gurney. "Okay, Ms. Rollins, we've got a nosebleed, so we're going to skip the CT and go straight to the MRI," the doctor said. His tone was measured but grave. "We need to see inside your brain, because something serious is going on." And even before the words were out of his mouth, he was wheeling her away briskly, Amanda struggling to not let everything go dark.


	15. Chapter 15

**Chapter 15**

Every bump and jostle of the gurney was a jolt of agony to Amanda's head. She moaned and gasped for breath, seeing spots, as the doctor rushed her down the bustling ER hallway, past curtained exam rooms holding the seriously sick and injured. There should have been hospital noise- the squeaking of the gurney wheels, the beeping of monitors, the busy voices of doctors and nurses—but she heard no sounds, just a loud buzzing in her ears. They had pulled to a rapid stop in front of a pair of steel elevator doors when it happened. The pain in her head had become electric, charged, small bolts of lightning to her brain, and her whole body convulsed in response. _I think this is it,_ Amanda thought to herself as her limbs jerked and twitched and her head thrust back. And though she was resigned, resolute—death had been the plan, hadn't it?—she was admittedly scared, and wanted someone with her. Amanda tried to cry out—for Olivia, Tanya, Kim, her Mama-but her tongue wasn't working right. It felt thick and sore and swollen, and her mouth brimmed full of something metallic. _I've bitten through my tongue, _she realized, and then the darkness sucked her under.

* * *

Amanda Rollins couldn't scream, couldn't cry out, as she spiraled down, down, down, caught in a black whirlpool, and at first she was beyond terrified. But in a second—or it could have been a minute, hour, day, or eternity; time suddenly seemed so relative, meaningless—she felt incredible peace. She opened her eyes to golden sunlight, the rays reaching through a leafy green canopy overhead. The warm air was laden with the smell of ripe, ready-to-pluck peaches, and she turned her head from where she was lying in the grass to look up at dangling clusters of the fuzzy fruit. Amanda suddenly knew where she was-her Grandad's peach orchard, a place long forgotten to her, until now.

She sat up and realized that she was tiny, just a child, with small, chubby hands and a head of messy blonde hair that defied combing. She sat up from her bed of grass to look around. She heard the footsteps of his work boots coming up behind her before she saw him, and when she turned her head, there he was, her grandfather, her father's father, the man who liked plaid shirts and rode a pickup truck and was, as Daddy said, "All Georgia." Little Amanda held out her arms to him, and her granddad lifted her off the ground and up onto his hip. Three year old Amanda hooked her hand inside the front pocket of his button-down shirt, as she always did when he carried her, and lay her cheek against the soft flannel, snuggled against the only man she had ever really trusted, who would die of a heart attack when Amanda turned four. "Hi Mandy," he said softly. "Glad to see you."

Amanda wiggled around to look into his wrinkled face and smile, meeting light blue eyes that were the color of her own. "I wish you could have stayed like this," he said. "I wish that nothing had bruised you."

Amanda nodded, understanding completely. Grandad always told her that you had to be careful with peaches, which were to be "handled with love." They were beautiful, dressed in their soft skins, filled with life's juices. But peaches bruised easy if squeezed or dropped or pressed or fondled. Still, he always let Amanda pick the peaches, lifting her up on his shoulders so she could very gently unhook the fruit from their branches. All peaches had to come off their branches.

"You have to let people love you, Mandy," Grandad said, seriously. "Let people love you."

Tiny Amanda wrapped her arms around his neck, then, realizing that she couldn't be in the orchard with him much longer, wanting to stay but knowing that this place was no longer for her.

* * *

Adult Amanda blinked once, twice, then quickly shut her eyes, nearly blinded by fluorescent light. Along with her rush of fear came a loud beeping sound, followed by alarmed voices.

"Her heart monitor's going crazy…" "Let me grab a doctor…" I think she's waking up!"

Then, a familiar voice beside her ear, low and soothing. "Amanda? Honey, can you hear me?"

She opened her eyes again and looked up at Olivia, then tried to sit up, moaning softly, her head feeling like a giant bowling ball.

"Sweetie, sweetie, no, lie still," Olivia instructed gently. "Shhh….lie still. You've had emergency surgery."

Amanda stared at Liv in confusion. Surgery? She moved at IV-hooked arm towards Olivia, wanting her to hold her hand, and Olivia quickly laced their fingers together. "I'm here, honey. The nurse went to grab a doctor. We're gonna get a doctor in here right now, to check things out."

A mere seconds later, a doctor was at the bedside, a man with dark, wavy hair. "Hey there, Ms. Rollins. I can't tell you how much of a relief it is to see you awake. Do you know where you are?"

Amanda licked her lips. "H-Hospital?" she slurred. Her tongue felt so thick.

"Yes ma'am, you're at Bellevue hospital. Can you tell me your full name?"

"Amanda Rollins," she said with effort, salivating profusely, drool dribbling down her chin that she weakly swiped away with her hand. She was embarrassed, and couldn't quite figure out why her mouth wasn't working.

"Okay, good, good," the doctor replied. "How old are you, Ms. Rollins?"

"Thir—thirty-two."

"Great—we've got the important stuff down pat. Do you remember why you're here?"

Amanda stared at the doctor, eyes steadily filling with tears as the memory came flooding back to her.

"I….hurt my head." she whispered shakily.

"You sure did," the doctor said softly. "You had a depressed skull fracture from your severe head banging, and developed a brain hemorrhage. You had a seizure and lost consciousness, so we had to go in quickly to stop the bleeding and relieve the pressure on your brain. It was pretty life or death there for a minute, Ms. Rollins," he said.

Amanda tried to nod; she knew. But she could only slightly tilt her chin; her head was too heavy.

"Are you hurting at all?" he asked. "Since you're still coming off the anesthesia, you shouldn't be, but we'll want to keep you comfortable and monitor and manage your pain, considering we had to open you up. You've also have a badly lacerated tongue, on account of biting it during the seizure, " he said, clearly noticing Amanda struggling to swallow her saliva and work her mouth. "It might be painful to eat and swallow, to talk for awhile. Lucky for us, the tongue heals quickly, though." The doctor titled his head patiently, waiting for Amanda to report on her pain, letting her try to formulate words through the haze of just coming out of surgery.

"I—I don't feel much," she gurgled. "Not yet."

The doctor nodded, checked her pupils, looked at the heart monitor, and promised a CT and MRI within the next couple of hours to look inside her head and make sure all brain swelling had gone down. Then, he left the room, and through blurry vision, Amanda saw Olivia rise from the chair where she had been sitting during the examination. Amanda felt her chest seize in protest, heard the urgent beep-beep-beep of her heart on the monitor as she reached towards the railing on the bed, trying to pull herself up.

"O—liv-ia…" she choked out. She coughed raggedly, swallowing a mixture of blood and saliva. Her sergeant rushed forward to soothe and calm her.

"Manda, Manda, lie back," she murmured, laying two warm hands on her shoulders and gently pushing her against the pillows. "Shhh…it's okay." She walked over to the sink area in the room, pulled a paper towel from the dispenser, and wet it under the faucet, then returned to gently dab blood and spit from her chin, careful to avoid her damaged mouth. "I know," she whispered as Amanda whimpered in discomfort. "Just try to relax, honey."

"Please—stay…" Amanda pleaded, her fingers weakly encircling Olivia's wrist.

"I won't go anywhere, sweetheart, but you need to rest." Olivia gently brushed her cheek with the back of her other hand. "You've got to lie down, okay?"

Amanda let herself sink more deeply against the pillows, squeezing at Olivia's wrist, reassuring herself she was still there. She could feel her Sergeant's pulse beneath her fingertips, a strong and steady heartbeat. To her it meant life—and something else, too. Amanda was beginning to realize that Olivia Benson meant love. She sucked in a breath, incredulous at the realization.

"Close your eyes," Olivia instructed gently. "Close your eyes and sleep." She lightly and repeatedly stroked Amanda's cheek with one knuckle as her eyelids drooped shut. "Good…That's good," she whispered. "I'm right here. You can go to sleep."

Amanda felt the pull of utter exhaustion, and Olivia's caresses gently lulled her unconscious again, into a for once dreamless sleep.


	16. Chapter 16

**Chapter 16**

When Amanda woke up, it felt as if her head was slowly being split in two. The pain was unlike anything she had ever felt before, and her whole body began to shudder, tears coating her cheeks. She bit down hard on her knuckles to try to stifle the scream, but it was torn from her anyway, a long, slow wail that bounced off the walls of the exam room, the loud, frantic beeping of her heart monitor mixing with her moans and cries, a cacophony of suffering filling the small space.

Olivia came sprinting into the room with a coffee cup clutched in one hand, hot liquid sloshing over the rim and splashing onto the floor in her hurry. She tossed the cup aside into the sink and rushed to Amanda's bedside, yelling for a nurse, a doctor, anyone, as she lay gentle hands on both of Amanda's shoulders to try to hold her still. Amanda had thrashed onto her side. She was moaning loudly over and over but trying to quiet herself, her teeth sunk deep into the flesh on her hand, the blood salty in her mouth and on her lips, whether from biting through her knuckles or from the deep gash on her tongue, she didn't know.

"Amanda, it's okay. It's okay, honey. You're okay. Help is coming, sweetheart. Help is coming, just hang on. You're okay, babe," she murmured. "Shhh."

A nurse in turquoise scrubs hurried into the room. "Ms. Rollins—Ms. Rollins, what's wrong? How much pain are you in?"

"My head—my head," Amanda moaned through a mouthful of flesh. She shook with suppressed cries and bit down harder on her hand. Olivia tried to extract it from her teeth, placing a hand on her cheek and stroking the pale skin with her thumb. "Manda, don't bite down. Come on, honey, let go. You're hurting yourself. Open your mouth, sweetie. It's okay if you need to scream."

"Ms. Rollins, can you tell me, on a scale of 1–10, how intense the pain is?" the nurse asked.

"I think it's obviously intense," Olivia interrupted, her voice sounding harried, frustrated. "Come on sweetie_; please_ let go of your hand."

Amanda reluctantly withdrew her hand from her mouth, two of her knuckles completely split open by her teeth, and grasped at Olivia's forearm, clutching her sleeve. "T-ten, " she gasped, struggling for air, emitting breathy little cries that wanted to be screams. Olivia had both hands anchored on her shoulders as her body shuddered.

"It-really hurts—Liv," she moaned, her words barely articulate in her distress. It felt as if someone had buried a hatchet in the side of her head.

"Oh, sweetie, I know," Olivia said, as the nurse prepared a shot of morphine. "You're gonna get something for the pain. Just try to hang in there, okay? Shhh."

Amanda felt a stinging prick in her arm and winced, startled, gripping Olivia's sleeve more tightly as she received the injection. Olivia rubbed both her shoulders soothingly, and Amanda had the strong desire to be held, trying to scoot herself closer to her Sergeant on the bed and causing herself more agony.

"Okay, honey," Olivia soothed. "Can I lower the railing and get on the bed with her?" she asked the nurse.

"Go ahead, Sergeant Benson," the nurse encouraged. "Just be careful with her IV."

Once the bed rails were adjusted, Olivia hoisted herself up next to Amanda, who immediately tried to crawl closer to her. "Honey, let me come to you," Olivia soothed. She scooted over on the mattress and gently gathered her injured colleague in her arms, reclining them both back on the bed.

"Lie down with me, sweetheart," she whispered, pillowing Amanda's bandaged head on her shoulder. Amanda was still crying, gaspy little sobs, and she clutched onto Olivia tightly, trying to breathe through the pain, gripping the fabric of her blue blouse, and Olivia smoothed her arms and shoulders and back, shushing her. They lay together through the worst of it, Olivia holding her gently, until Amanda could feel the razor-edged ache in her head begin to dull and then dissipate completely. A profound, drowsy relaxation made her body go lax, and she slumped against Liv, feeling her pulse slow pleasantly. She let out a slow, shuddery sigh.

"How you doing, Amanda?" Olivia murmured softly.

"Better," she slurred. "Drugs kickin' in…"

Olivia chuckled softly. "I can tell."

Amanda squeezed Liv back in a tighter hug, the morphine lowering all inhibitions, making her feel affectionate, open, for the first time in years. Olivia very gently squeezed her back, wrapping her arms around her more securely. "Alright there, honey?"

"Yeah…" Amanda said, head still snuggled against her Sergeant's shoulder. She inhaled deeply, breathing in the scent of mocha. "You smell like coffee," she murmured.

"Not surprised—I spilled some on my shirt earlier," Olivia said.

"I'm sorry, Liv," Amanda replied, noticing the stain on her opposite shoulder where coffee had clearly sloshed onto her blouse. Amanda's throat tightened. Since she had known Olivia, she had always been so put together, so sharply dressed and dignified, and seeing her stained clothing moved her deeply for some reason, particularly since the spill had happened on her account. Tears welled up in her eyes.

"Don't worry about it, honey," Olivia said, clearly puzzled by her reaction. "It's just coffee."

"I know," Amanda mumbled. "I meant I'm sorry for everything. I'm so damn sorry, Liv." She let out a deep sob, her feelings of shame and remorse bubbling over.

"Shhh…I know that, Amanda. Please, don't work yourself up. You've just had brain surgery. All you need to do right now is rest and relax."

"Liv?" Amanda asked shakily, through her tears.

"Yes, Sweetheart?"

"The other day—on the phone. I said that we weren't friends," she said. "I didn't mean—I want us to be…" she fumbled for the words.

"You didn't mean what you said," Olivia gently articulated for her. "I knew that already, honey. You were upset, and frustrated, and understandably lashing out."

"I—can we be—are we—I mean, I know we work together, I know you're Sergeant, but—" Amanda stumbled, so afraid of possible rejection if she asked Olivia the question directly.

"Of course I consider you a friend," Olivia said. "I care about you, Amanda."

Amanda nodded, too overcome with emotion to speak for a long moment. "I almost didn't make it, Liv," she said, voice, barely above a whisper.

"I know, honey, and you scared the hell out of me."

"I scared myself, too."

"I need you to do something for me, Amanda," Olivia said seriously. She shifted Amanda gently in her arms, pulling back a bit so she could look into her eyes. "I need you to stop trying to hurt yourself. Your life is too important."

Amanda's lower lip trembled at that, more tears pooling in her eyes and then overflowing down her cheeks. "I—I don't know about that, Liv."

Olivia pulled her very close, then, and Amanda turned her face into her shoulder, crying softly into her shirt. "There are so many t-things…wrong…with me," she stuttered into the material. She felt herself being rocked gently.

"Sweetie, whatever you feel is wrong can be worked through. It absolutely can be worked on. But you have to get help, Amanda. You have to let yourself be helped."

Amanda knew that, now. She needed to re-build a life worth living, and she couldn't do it on her own. And she was still stubborn, fiercely resolved, that she wouldn't share her most shameful secrets with a stranger, at least not for the first time. But perhaps they could be shared with a friend.

She lifted her head from Olivia's shoulder and looked briefly into her Sergeant's dark eyes, daring to ask the question that she had never asked anyone in her life, not since she was a little girl. "Can—will-can you please help me?" she said with effort. "Please, Liv…I need you."


	17. Chapter 17

**Chapter 17**

As soon as she had spoken the words aloud, Amanda scooted backwards out of Olivia's embrace and hid her face in her hands, overcome. These three words—_I need you_\- they were words she had never said to anyone in her life before, not the parents that she could never count on, not the sister she had raised and cared for and missed so much, not even to any of the men that she had dated or thought that she had wanted or conceded to sex with over the years. She could feel her face steadily heating up, and her whole body trembled with emotion. A sob escaped her before she could stop it, muffled by the hands cupped over her face.

"Amanda, please look at me," Olivia demanded gently. "Look at me, honey." When Amanda refused to take her hands away, Liv lightly stroked and then tapped her wrist, coaxing her to remove them. "You don't need to hide," she whispered.

Amanda let Olivia gently tug one of her hands away into her warm, firm grasp, but still shielded her tear-filled eyes with her other hand, unable to meet Olivia's gaze. "Sweetheart, I will be here to help you as much as I possibly can," Olivia promised softly. "But there's an extent to what I can do for you. What you're going through right now—you're going to need the doctors and nurses to heal physically, and then you're definitely going to need some counseling, some professional help. I'm not qualified and equipped to give you all the support that you need."

At this point, Amanda was shaking so much that even her lips were trembling, and she could barely get her words out. "I—shouldn't have asked—shouldn't have s-said…"

"Shhh," Olivia hushed. She sat up reached out for Amanda, opening her arms. "Come here, sweetheart."

Amanda was only reluctant for a moment before crawling over to Olivia, who pulled her in close and resumed her holding and rocking. "This… this I can do for you," Olivia murmured. "This I'm happy to do for you."

Amanda lay her head on Olivia's chest and suddenly began to cry very hard, deep, guttural sobs of unbearable shame, longing, and need that made her whole body quake. I've got you, honey," Olivia whispered. "I've got you."

Amanda cried for a long time, until her throat was hoarse and her nose was stuffed, so that she had to breathe out her mouth, soft, quick little gasps that had Olivia concerned. "Sweetie, I want you to slow your breathing down for me," she urged gently. "Nice, deep breaths. Easy, honey, easy."

Amanda shuddered, her breaths still quickening. "Liv…I'm sorry I asked…"

"Shh, shh, shh," Olivia soothed. She had slowed down and stopped the rocking when Amanda started to quiet, but resumed the gentle motion again at the first sign of distress. "You don't have anything to be sorry for, Amanda. You know what? I'm proud of you. I'm proud of you that you asked me for help. It's a good start, sweetie, and I know it wasn't easy for you. "

"I know you have better things to do then to help me with my fucked up life," Amanda whispered brokenly. "You have the precinct, and Noah—you're a mom. You don't have time for this shit."

"Amanda, stop," Olivia demanded, a sudden edge to her voice now. "Stop talking this way." She stopped rocking, and the arms around Amanda stiffened. Amanda felt her own body grow rigid and tense, steeled for rejection, for being pushed away. She hiccupped pitifully, and Olivia sighed, her grip growing soft, soothing, once more. "You're right that I don't have a ton of time, that I have a lot of responsibilities. And of course my son needs to be my priority. But I wouldn't be here with you unless I wanted to, Amanda. And I told you, I'll help as much as I can."

"I'm so scared, Liv," Amanda admitted in a whisper. "I don't think I can bear lying alone in this hospital. I don't think I can take the pain if it comes back. Or the memories… memories of _him._ I've been out of it and not dreaming much, not thinking much, with the drugs and the surgery, but I'm so scared that it's all gonna come back to me. I don't want to remember. That's how I ended up here, Liv. That's how all this happened. I was trying to bash him out of my head." She sucked in a breath.

"Oh, Amanda," Olivia whispered back emphatically. "I'm so sorry, honey, for what you went through. I'm sorry what happened that night with Patton."

Amanda heart monitored spiked, a staccato of beeping that filled the room. This was it—the time to share her secret, that it hadn't just been one night with Patton, but several weeks of visits to his office, where she went willingly, and gave her body to him again and again. But Olivia rushed to soothe her, not guessing at the reason for her rising panic, thinking that it still just stemmed from a fear of being alone, and in those intervening seconds, Amanda lost her nerve.

"I'm going to continue to come to stay with you for part of the day, Amanda, while you're here" Olivia soothed, rubbing her back. "Fin will be covering for me for several hours each day, and I arranged for an extra detective from New Jersey SVU to be on call if we need him, told their precinct I have friend and colleague in the ICU who needs some support right now. I'll ty to visit as much as I can. Of course, I can't be here evenings; I need to be with Noah. I've brought Frannie to my place, and she'll be staying with me while you recover."

"Thank you, Olivia," Amanda whispered shakily. "Fin doesn't know—does he? What I've done? Where I'm at?"

Olivia hesitated. "He knows that you aren't feeling well, and are having a hard time," she said finally. "I owed him at least some basic information. He's very worried about you, Amanda—everyone is. Everyone wants to know that you'll be okay."

"Please promise me, Olivia, that you won't tell them any details," Amanda begged, squeezing Olivia's arm urgently. "I don't think I could bear it if they knew."

"It's okay, sweetie. I gave you my word. Those details are yours to tell."

Again, the urge to confess, to share details with Liv that she had never shared with anyone before, coupled with intense horror at even thinking of voicing them aloud. Details like the smell of his aftershave and the musk of his naked body, the feel of rough, callused hands that groped her, tore her clothes, slapped, pinched, prodded, fingered, fondled her. The clinking sound of his belt buckle as he undid his pants as soon as she had shut the office door, or the jangle of the cuffs that he liked to use to bind her wrists so that she couldn't struggle. The taste of blood from biting the inside of her cheek to keep from screaming, and the sight of a grainy wood surface that she stared at for long, endless minutes the time that Patton threw her face down on the desk and then climbed on top of her, thrusting into her from behind. She had studied the pattern of that wood for all that it was worth, as if it were the most interesting thing in the world and all that mattered, pretending that she could no longer feel her skin splitting in ways that it shouldn't, tender flesh tearing in private places.

Amanda's hand flew to her mouth. "Olivia, I'm gonna be sick," she warned, gagging. Her stomach lurched, and she pulled out of the other woman's arms as quickly as she could, doubling over on the bed, one arm wrapped around her middle, one hand firmly over her mouth. Still, a gush of clear vomit burst forth in spite of all her efforts and splattered the front of her hospital gown. She heaved and heaved, as if her body was trying to expel the lining of her empty stomach as her mind tried to expel the sickening details that were suddenly all she could think about.

"Oh, honey," Olivia said in sympathy, gathering the strands of blonde hair not covered in bandages behind her shoulders, rubbing her back in small, soothing circles. "Let me grab you a nurse."

"Don't—don't leave," Amanda pleaded, wiping her mouth, then gagging and heaving again, though nothing more came up.

"It's okay, honey—I'm just gonna get a nurse in here so we can get you cleaned up, have someone check you out since you're feeling sick. Okay?"

Amanda's shoulders shook with embarrassment as Liv hopped off the bed, went to the doorway of the room, and motioned at someone in the hall. The same nurse with turquoise blue scrubs hurried inside. "Oh—feeling nauseous, huh?" she said, stating the obvious. "That can be a side effect of the morphine. I'll grab you another gown."

Amanda knew that more than the morphine was at play, but she didn't comment. She felt empty, gutted, as Olivia left briefly and returned with a cup of ice water with a straw, which she held to Amanda's lips so she could take a long, cold swallow. "We've gotta get you drinking, honey," she said softly. "The nurses say you need plenty of fluids."

The nurse returned briskly into the room at that moment bearing a new hospital gown, her little brown ponytail bobbing behind her. "Okay, maybe you'd like your friend to step outside the room so I can help you get changed?"

Amanda face turned very hot, then. "No one is helping me get dressed," she said flatly. She fisted her hands in the bed sheets, hoping that no one could see how much they were trembling.

"Ma'am, I don't recommend that you get out of bed right now, considering you've only been out of surgery a few hours. I'll need to assist you in getting out of your gown."

"The hell that's happening," Amanda said, growing agitated.

"Sweetheart, I know this is embarrassing, and this is tough for you, feeling so vulnerable like this," Olivia offered. "But you need to cooperate with the nurses, do what the doctors say. We don't want you getting out of bed and collapsing. It's important that you stay safe."

Amanda shook her head vigorously in protest. The panic was at a peak, now, so that when the strange nurse came over to dab a washcloth over Amanda's mouth, to clean her face, she thrashed frantically, her heart monitor bursting into a crescendo of beeping. The small, slender hand of the nurse was Patton's hairy-knuckled hand, the soft terrycloth material a sticky piece of yellowed duct tape being pressed down over her mouth while she lie restrained on the hard-tiled floor. After the time that she had whimpered and pleaded aloud for him to stop during sex, when she couldn't bite the inside of her cheek hard enough to hold back her cries, he had decided that it might be best to tape her mouth shut or gag her with something after he had cuffed her, just in case, though the prospect of someone walking in on them partially aroused him, spurred him on. "Might be fun having someone watch, but we really can't have no interruptin," he drawled into the shell of her ear. She could feel his hot breath tickle her eardrum.

_The desk. Roll under the desk, _she remembered desperately. Her hands were bound, so she knew all she could do was roll. She pushed off as hard as she could with her feet, flopping from back, to stomach, to back, to side, rolling away as hard as she could, and she felt him pinching at the flesh on her inner arm as she tried to escape his touches, his fingernails sharp and lancing, grabbing at her so hard that her skin tore. She knew she wasn't supposed to scream—someone could also be working late in the precinct, could walk in on them, would _know_-but the piercing shriek left her anyway, because she knew what would happen next. Even as she tried to take cover in the small, dark cove beneath the desk, he would drag her out by her ankles, her blouse riding up so that she could feel the cold floor tiles on her bare back. Then, he would pound his fist into her temple, one, two, three, four times, until there were stars in her vision, and his hands would be down the waistband of her black dress pants, tugging them off-

Amanda screamed and screamed, one word, over and over. It was the word that she wanted to scream the last time this had happened to her, and also the thing she wished she had done more than anything, instead of following him into that office- again, and again, and again. She was pleading with Patton, but she was also pleading with herself. _Stop._


	18. Chapter 18

**Chapter 18**

For all her cries and screams, Amanda knew that Patton wouldn't stop. He never had, no matter how much she writhed in pain, no matter if she squirmed or struggled, scratched or kicked, or otherwise tried to push him off of her. He hadn't stopped when she had begged him to put an end to the mandated "meetings," to just let her do her job and be a police detective, to leave Kim alone, to leave _her_ alone. And he certainly hadn't stopped the day that she grew desperate, angry, brazen, when she threatened to expose him for the things he did behind closed office doors, to report him to someone, anyone, who could help. What he had done that time—that last office visit—Amanda had known then that Deputy Chief Patton had absolute power over her. _"I own you,"_ Patton once whispered in her ear during sex, and Amanda knew he was right. And so now her screams of "stop" became softer pleas, little mewling cries of defeat.

She could feel the cold, hard tiles of the precinct floor against the bare skin of her back, and she flattened herself against the unyielding surface, preparing to be pinned beneath his body. She waited for the usual veiled threat, his quiet drawl—"I know you'll do right by your sister." But his weight never came, and the only sound she could hear was her own cries, her moans of _please, no, please _filling and echoing in her head. And then, someone else's voice, coming through in bits and pieces. "Amanda—you're in the—calm down- honey, stay with me-" The voice, she realized was female. Had someone else walked in the office? Oh, God, they might see the things he had done to her body—the things that she had let him do. She heard a high, thin cry, and it took her a minute to realize it was coming from her.

"Shhh….come on, Amanda. Come on, sweetheart." That female voice again, as if from faraway. Amanda stained to listen to the words, to put a name to the voice. It was soft but firm, familiar. She opened her tightly closed eyes, her surroundings jarring into focus. She looked frantically for the door to Patton's office, the door with the cheap blinds over the window that she sometimes had eyes on from her position on the floor. She had always been petrified that the door would open, that someone would walk in and see what was going on in that room, and other times she had prayed for that very thing to happen, for someone to barge in and put an end to what was being done to her. But through blurred vision, she saw unfamiliar shapes and fixtures in the office, what looked like a sink and vanity across the way, next to some kind of cart on wheels. And more sounds were coming to her now—an erratic beeping noise, rapid footsteps. Someone was moving softly behind her; she heard the rustle of clothing. She let out another shriek, thinking it was him, waiting to hear his drawl. Instead, the familiar female voice again, identifying itself this time. "Amanda, it's Olivia. It's Olivia, sweetheart. I'm right behind you. Just listen to my voice, honey. You're here with me. You're here with me. "

_Olivia. _Amanda's body sagged with momentary relief when she realized who was with her, but then seconds later tensed in fear and confusion. "Olivia, please, get me out of here. I said 'stop.' I don't want him to touch me. I don't want to meet with him anymore," she begged, whimpering. "Please, don't let him do anything else."

Olivia went quiet for a long minute, and Amanda wondered if she was really there or just imagined, if her mind had conjured the only person that made her feel safe in an attempt to cope with what was going to happen to her. But then her boss spoke again, her voice hitching with emotion. "It's just me and the nurse in here, Amanda. No one's going to hurt you. No one's going to touch you, baby."

A temporary warmth unfurled in Amanda's chest when Olivia called her "baby," but then she shivered and winced. The floor was so hard, so cold, that her back ached. She was both past and present again, time all muddled in her head. She didn't know if Patton was still there, if he had ever been there, if he might be coming back. "Liv, please, help me," she begged, her voice strangled, blood in her mouth again from having bitten down on her already injured tongue. "He's not finished with me yet."

"Listen to me, Amanda. Nothing bad is going to happen to you. You're safe, with me, in the hospital, okay? You're safe, my love. You're safe. No person here is going to do anything to you. We just want to help you, sweetheart."

Amanda swallowed, blood still blooming on her tongue. Hospital—she was in a hospital? "Liv, I'm so confused. I don't know what the hell is going on," she wept. "I can't see you—where are you? Why am I on the floor?"

"Shhh, you're just having a flashback," Olivia said, her voice soft, lilting, patient. "I'm right behind you, okay? And you're not on the floor. You're in bed. Can you scoot yourself over a little bit, honey? You've pressed yourself up against the bed rail, and that can't feel good on your back."

Amanda moved a free hand behind her— hadn't she been cuffed?- and gripped a cold metal bar that was pressing into her spine. The hospital bed rail, she realized, gradually becoming more lucid, more aware of her surroundings. Dizzy, she tried to drag her body to a more central position on the mattress. The lumpy pillows had been knocked askew, and the white hospital sheets on the opposite side of the bed were splattered red. The crease of Amanda's left arm felt tight and sore from where Patton had pinched and tore at her skin, but when she examined the area that hurt, she slowly realized that Patton hadn't been pinching her at all. She saw purple bruising, a bright trickle of blood, the remnants of medical tape—her IV site. She had torn out her IV when she had been rolling and flailing on the bed, trying to get away from a man who wasn't there. Her whole body shook with the realization, ripples of shame moving through her.

She saw the young nurse advancing diagonally towards the foot of the bed, only her petite blue scrub top with shirt pocket visible- Amanda was unable to see her face because she had curled tightly into herself, folded into the fetal position, her chin tucked into her chest. "Ms. Rollins, I realize you're having a rough time. I know something scary is going on for you, and that you don't want to be touched. I don't want to frighten you any further. But, I've got to tend to your arm, reinsert your IV," she stated. "And I need to get you cleaned up."

Amanda's hospital gown was soaked, pasted to her body with cold sweat and vomit, but still she protested when she saw the nurse advancing even further, still holding the washcloth that had turned to duct tape when pressed over her mouth. "Don't come near me," she shrieked. "Leave me alone. I don't want anyone touching me. Leave me alone!" She was vaguely aware that she was being unreasonable, irrational. But she was afraid, and felt a desperate embarrassment, a need to preserve the last of her dignity, if she even had any left.

"Amanda, shhh," she heard Liv soothe, from behind her, but she only grew more agitated. "No—leave me alone. I want to be left alone! Everyone get the hell away from me!"

"Amanda," Olivia said sternly. "We can't leave you like this. You're bleeding and you're shaking. You've thrown up all over yourself."

Amanda began to cry, then, to stutter her protests through helpless, angry sobs. "Let me—do it—myself. I can—get dressed by—myself."

"You _can't," _Liv retorted. "You're so weak right now you can barely hold your head up. You've only been out of major surgery for a few hours."

Amanda's body slumped against the mattress in defeat, then. She lay balled up, crying, for several moments, and then rolled over with great effort, so she would be facing Olivia. The last of her anger, her desire to be alone, dissipated when she saw her Sergeant. She looked perturbed and uncharacteristically disheveled standing vigil at Amanda's bedside, both her hands closed tightly around the bed rail, her blouse stained with coffee and still spotted with Amanda's earlier tears, her dark hair haphazardly pushed back, several strands out of place. Amanda was suddenly scared and contrite, thinking that Olivia had grown exasperated with her, that she was frazzled and frustrated and ready to leave. "Liv, I'm sorry. I'm sorry." She hiccupped through her tears.

"Oh, Amanda," Olivia said, sighing heavily. "I don't want you to be sorry. I just want you to let us help you."

"I'm a mess," Amanda acknowledged meekly, gesturing to her hospital gown.

"Yes, sweetheart, you are," Olivia said, and her mouth turned up in a small smile, letting Amanda know that her blunt reply was a way to get her to smile back, a form of gentle teasing rather than an attempt shame her. "I'm not much better either," she said, gesturing to her own rumpled clothing. "Let's get you into something clean and dry, okay? I'll step out and give you some privacy while you get changed and freshened up."

"No!" Amanda exclaimed, voice tight with urgency. "Please, Olivia, I don't want her helping me, looking at me. I don't want her touching me. I don't even know her." She looked at Olivia pleadingly, hoping that her Sergeant would understand the silent question that she was too embarrassed to ask.

Olivia looked at her closely. "Do you want me to help you instead?"

Amanda chewed her lower lip for awhile before answering. "Yes," she finally whispered, with effort.

Olivia glanced towards the nurse, still hovering there across the room, and Amanda wished so much that she would just leave, so that it was just her and Liv in the room. "Would it be possible for me to help her with getting dressed?" she asked. "Maybe we can take her into the bathroom, and I can help her change and get washed up."

"We'll need to get a wheelchair," Amanda heard the nurse finally concede. "I'll be back in a minute or two."

Amanda shivered, her teeth chattering, her body so cold and damp, and Olivia reached for the rough, fuzzy blanket rumpled at the bottom of the bed. "Can I put this around you, honey?" Olivia asked, clearly hesitant to touch her or cover her up without her consent. Once Amanda had tilted her head in agreement, she gently tucked the blanket around her, the standard-issue material not exactly comfortable, but certainly thick and warm. Amanda could feel Olivia's palm lingering on her back even after she was wrapped snugly. When she leaned into the touch, the older woman started lightly stroking and smoothing the blanket, her hand barely skimming Amanda's back at first. But as the younger woman calmed, Olivia deepened the touch, applying gentle pressure, her fingers occasionally kneading her colleague's tight, tense muscles in a massage, willing her to relax. As her sergeant stroked and rubbed her back, Amanda felt her eyes droop closed. She wasn't sure how much time had passed—it could have been just a second or several minutes—but suddenly she felt Olivia gently tap her on the shoulder, then stroke her cheek with the back of her hand. "Amanda, the nurse is back; we need to try to get you up out of bed and into a wheelchair," Olivia coaxed.

Amanda groaned softly, disoriented, barely able to open her eyes. After the intense, sudden surge of adrenaline from before, the gripping terror and panic, she had gone limp with exhaustion, her body succumbing to the increasing effects of the morphine, completely spent from the aftermath of anxiety and the physical and emotional stress of the surgery.

"Sweetie, help me out here," Olivia said, squeezing her hand gently. "Can you open your eyes for me, try to sit up?"

The request didn't even register for Amanda at first. Time blurred again, and she heard Olivia speaking across the room to someone. "She's pretty out of it. Maybe we shouldn't try to get her out of bed." Then, the sound of retreating footsteps, the distinctive click of Olivia's boots moving away from the bed. Amanda's eyes flew open. "Olivia, don't leave me," she called out, her voice groggy but fearful.

"It's alright, Amanda," her boss called back softly. "I'm right over here, talking to the nurse. We're just trying to decide what to do. You're exhausted and weak, honey, and you probably shouldn't get up."

As dizzy and disoriented as she was, Amanda reached for the bed rail and tried to pull herself up. She was terrified that she would fall asleep and that someone would manipulate her body while she was unconscious; examine, poke and prod her; strip her naked to change her. She couldn't bear that kind of invasion right now, didn't want to startle awake in bed to a stranger touching her, even if that person was a doctor or a nurse, a well-meaning professional providing routine care. Her mind had already been invaded enough, with memories of a time when her body was not her own.

"Please don't go, Liv," she reiterated tearfully, slouching against the bed rail, the formerly comforting blanket now wrapped too tightly around her, making her feel constricted, trapped as she struggled to sit up. Her bandaged head lolled to the side—Liv was right, she could barely hold it up.

"Hang on there, honey, don't try to get up on your own," Olivia discouraged, hurrying back to her side. "I told you I wasn't going anywhere, sweetheart. Shhh. Can you lie back for me?"

"No," Amanda protested, head drooping further, the bandages brushing Olivia's arm. She clutched tighter at the bedrail, trying so hard to maintain her semi-upright position. "I want to get up. I want to stay with you," she slurred. "I feel safe with you."

All of Olivia's features softened, her dark eyes glistening. She nodded in acceptance. "Okay, honey," she said, almost as a whisper. She motioned for the nurse, who reluctantly pushed over a wheelchair. Amanda got the feeling that she was not on board with all of this, but the young nurse didn't argue. She must have sensed that trying to physically handle Amanda at this time would be a disaster, because she let Olivia take the lead, allowing her to lower the bed rail, temporarily unhooking the necessary wires from Amanda when Liv asked.

"Sweetie, I'm gonna help lift you up. Is that okay?" As soon as Amanda assented, Olivia leaned over and wrapped one arm securely around her friend's back, another arm gently sliding under her legs, where her knees bent. "Now, you put your arms around me, sweetheart," she murmured, and Amanda weakly complied. With just a small grunt of effort, Liv lifted her off the bed, cradling her like a baby against her chest.

"You got her?" the nurse asked.

"She's actually pretty light," Olivia answered, a twinge of worry in her voice.

"She's very underweight," the nurse declared, and Amanda was mildly irritated that they were talking about her while she was in the room, making comments about her health as if she weren't right there with them, but she was too tired to protest. What's more, she was experiencing feelings that overrode her annoyance, even her exhaustion. She was having a visceral reaction to being carried in Olivia's arms.

The minute that Olivia had lifted her up and held her so intimately, she felt a rush of warmth and tenderness towards the other woman, her heart fluttering wildly in her chest, like a butterfly's wings. She was only carried for a few moments before Olivia slid her gently into the wheelchair. Still, the strength of her response to being held and cradled so intimately took her breath away, moving her to tears. As Olivia wheeled her towards the bathroom, she huddled deeper into the blanket that she was still swaddled in, trying to keep from trembling, again worried that these feelings were dangerous. She had felt this intensely before, experienced the rush—but it usually happened when she had a hand of cards or a stack of chips in front of her; never before had it been in response to a person. This was clearly a different kind of rush—in fact, she knew now that it was something even stronger than what she felt at a casino, more powerful than having alcohol in her veins. She struggled to put a word on what she was feeling, and then it came back to her again, as it had earlier, when she had just woken from surgery. Love. This was a kind of love.


	19. Chapter 19

**Chapter 19 **

**A/N: This November 19, 2016, is ****International Survivors of Suicide Loss Day. This story is dedicated to anyone who has ever struggled with thoughts of suicide or made an attempt, and all those who have loved a person who has either attempted or died by suicide. Every 17 minutes, someone in the US dies from suicide, and over 90% of people who take their own lives have a diagnosable mental disorder. Whether someone is dealing with depression, addition, PTSD, or other mental health challenges, there can be many relapses on the road to recovery, and times of hopelessness. This story is about that reality, but also hope and healing. May hope and healing come to all those who have been touched by suicide.**

Amanda was reeling in more ways than one. Physically, her head was whirling. Even though she was pushed very gently, for just a few feet, when Liv parked her wheelchair in the center of the bathroom, it felt as if she had just done a bunch of somersaults; she was dazed, weakened, dizzy at being up for the first time since surgery. Emotionally, she was still coming down from the rush, her heart beating in a sickly rhythm, cheeks warm as she held tight to the memory of being carried and cradled. Seconds later, she went from pleasantly flushed to hot and flustered.

Love was never something she had done well. Amanda had loved her parents as a little girl, at first with the usual abandon of all young children. But over the years, that love turned to longing. She longed for her Mama to come out of her stupor to hug her or play with her or even just talk to her, for her Daddy to take her with him to watch the horses race, or lift her up on his shoulders like he sometimes did. But her Mama never wanted to hold her, didn't much acknowledge her, putting her aside for a bottle of prescription pills, and her Daddy was mostly distracted with placing his next big bet. So, Amanda learned that her love wasn't enough, that other things were just worth more.

Amanda had loved and still loved her sister, too. It was a love that was fierce, loyal, protective, the type of love that a mother would feel for her child—Amanda had played that role for Kim. But that kind of love was also ineffective. No matter how much Amanda loved her, took care of her, bailed her out, Kim still stole, did drugs, gave her body to the wrong men. Love didn't stop her erratic, desperate behavior; love didn't make her well.

And, Amanda had tried to love men, over the years. In those fleeting moments after sex, some men occasionally wanted to lie with her and hold her, and sometimes, they kissed her soft and slow instead of in a hard, hungry way. She struggled to enjoy these small tokens of affection, those cursory minutes of tenderness, but mostly, she just felt numb, deadened. Night after night, these men groped and fondled and touched her and thrust themselves inside her in that uncomfortable way that she pretended to enjoy, and so she knew that they really wanted her body, not her. In the end, Amanda learned to withhold her love, because it always went wasted.

It was different with Olivia. Whenever she was with Olivia—when Liv hugged or touched her, whether they had a serious discussion or just chatted about the day or their families, those times they ate or drank coffee together, when they had laughed and bantered over a board game—Amanda felt alive and engaged, and like there was something she wanted to give—her confidence, her friendship, her respect, herself. In just a few weeks, Olivia Benson had stirred up feelings in Amanda that she hadn't felt in years. That urge to totally trust another person, with abandon. The longing to be held and rocked and comforted, a long unmet need that she never acknowledged.

"I'm not supposed to feel this way," Amanda blurted as Olivia knelt down in front of her and put her hands on her knees. She felt hot, bothered, uncomfortable, perspiring beneath the blanket wrapped around her. "I never let myself feel like this."

"Feel like what, sweetheart?" Olivia asked, brow furrowing. "Are you in pain? Do you need me to bring in the doctor or a nurse?" She lay a hand on Amanda's heated cheek. "You're warm. I'm going to go ask for the doctor…"

"No," Amanda answered immediately. "I'm okay." Tears brimmed in her eyes.

"You don't look okay, Amanda. Tell me what's wrong," Olivia prodded.

But Amanda shook her head. The morphine had already made her give too much away, and she was not willing or ready or even capable of elaborating any further. She didn't even realize that her tears had started falling until Olivia caught one with her thumb. "You're so exhausted," she murmured sympathetically. "Is it okay if I help you get changed and cleaned up now, sweetie? I'll try to make this quick and painless, and I'll give you as much privacy as possible, okay?"

Amanda slowly nodded, not eager to surrender the last of her dignity, but feeling like there weren't many other options, because she was so worn out, it was hard to even maintain an upright posture in the chair. She was aware of the smell of sour vomit filling the small bathroom, and wanted the damp, disgusting gown off of her.

"Okay, sweetie, where should we start?" Olivia asked gently, unwinding the hospital blanket from around Amanda. The minute she was uncovered, Amanda went from feeling overheated to shivering with cold, her teeth rattling together.

Olivia raised an eyebrow and studied Amanda with concern, and Amanda waved a dismissive hand. "I'm fine, Liv," she said. "Just cold. Let's just get this over with."

Olivia nodded. "Okay, honey. Can you slip your arms out of the sleeves for me?"

Amanda weakly tried to shrug off part of the gown, exposing a shoulder, releasing an arm. Her plan had been to wiggle one arm out of the thin garment at a time, while still holding the gown to her center, so that the most private parts of herself were never fully exposed. Then, Olivia could hand her off a new gown, and she would still mostly be dressing independently. But, her fingers trembled as she fumbled with the material, and the gown slipped from her grasp and bunched around her waist. "Shit!" she whispered. She quickly covered her bare breasts with both arms and stared down at her lap, her face crumpling.

"Don't worry about it, sweetheart," Olivia soothed. "It's just me in here with you, Amanda. I'm not looking at you. I just want to help you get more comfortable, okay?"

"This is embarrassing as hell," Amanda said tearfully, holding back a sob.

"I know," Olivia said softly. "Look, this sucks, okay? Let's just acknowledge that. You're in a tough and awkward position and it sucks. But, friends do these kinds of things for each other, right?" She gave Amanda a reassuring smile.

The younger woman looked blankly at Olivia. She wouldn't know. She hadn't had any female friends before.

"Here, let me tell you something embarrassing about me," Olivia offered. She got up, grabbed a washcloth folded neatly on a nearby towel rack. "I was in college, and I went to the bar with some friends. I didn't usually drink much that first year or two on campus, but it was someone's birthday, and we had a few shots. A few too many," Liv said. She leaned inside the walk-in shower, pumped some shower gel onto the washcloth from the dispenser on the wall. "When I got back to my dorm, I was pretty drunk. My roommate, we were good friends, but she had never seen me like this before. I usually was the one studying, and she was the one out partying and drinking, so she was shocked when I came home wasted. Apparently, as soon as I got inside the door, I burst into song and basically started serenading her while she was lying in bed trying to sleep." Olivia wet the washcloth under the faucet, wrung it out, then came back to kneel beside Amanda's wheelchair once more. Very gently, she reached out to sponge Amanda's clammy neck, then moved to gently dab at her shoulders.

Amanda was vaguely ashamed at what Liv was doing, but she was mostly riveted by her Sergeant's story, wanting to hear more. "What song?" she asked.

Olivia smirked and shook her head. "The theme song from Barney," she finally admitted.

Amanda snorted with laughter.

"Yep," Olivia said, lightly sponging the length of Amanda's arms now. "Only, I changed the lyrics a little. 'I love you, you love me, I still know my ABCs.'"

"Then what, Liv?" Amanda asked.

"Then, I started getting dressed for bed, and I couldn't figure out how to unhook my bra. Apparently, I started crying. My roommate had to help me take it off. And I ended up passing out in bed in just a t-shirt and underwear. In _her _bed, practically right on top of her."

In spite of the compromising position she was in, with Olivia basically helping her to wash while she was naked down to the waist, Amanda smiled. She was moved that Olivia had shared this story to make her feel better—it hadn't even occurred to her that her professional, typically serious boss had an embarrassing moment, or had ever been silly or reckless or vulnerable. She had wistfully admired Olivia since her first day of transfer to SVU and had never imagined her as anything but poised, dignified, put-together. "Is that your _one_ embarrassing moment, Liv?" she said dryly, raising an eyebrow. "I believe I've got you beat. My life is basically a series of embarrassments and screw ups."

"When did I say that my only moment?" Olivia replied gently.

"So, what other embarrassing stories do you have, Liv?"

"Don't push it, Amanda." Olivia pretended to swat at her with the washcloth, and Amanda took the opportunity to snatch it from her, glad that she still seemed to have her reflexes intact, that they had been damaged by her head trauma.

"I think I can take it from here," she said, trying to sound cool and unconcerned. In truth, her heart was hammering away in her chest at Olivia's gentle ministrations with the washcloth, and not entirely with displeasure.

"Okay, honey, of course," Olivia replied. "I'll turn around and give you some privacy, and then we can switch gowns. We're almost done."

Amanda started to sponge the rest of herself, then, wishing more than anything for full immersion in a shower, knowing it was pointless to ask with the bandages wrapped around her head, her surgical incision still fresh. She started talking again to break the silence, to ward off the embarrassment and shame that threatened to suffocate her and that was making her feel increasingly warm.

"I never helped a friend get dressed, but I threw Kim in the shower once. I had just gotten my own apartment in Atlanta, and it was my first job on the force. My parents kicked Kim out for stealing their money for booze, so I let her crash at my place. Came home one night after working this drug case, and found her passed out in her puke on the living room floor, in her underwear. So, I hauled her ass up and pushed her into the shower and turned on the cold water full blast. I told her to the sober the fuck up." Amanda laughed humorlessly. "I can be a real bitch sometimes," she said. She was trying to make a joke out of something that she really didn't find funny at all. That day that she had roughly shoved her sister under the cold water was the first time she started to lose her patience with Kim, to tire of all the caring and cajoling that didn't seem to make any difference in her sister's life. But what if she had washed her hair instead, helped lather her head with shampoo, shushed her and told her it was going to be okay, wrapped her in a warm towel? Her throat smarted.

Liv was quiet for a moment, not commenting on the story at first. Then she said, softly, "You may have your moments, Amanda—you might try to act like a bitch, and pretend you don't care about anything or what anybody thinks. But it's never really been all that convincing to me."

Amanda didn't know what to say to that—couldn't find her words, because she was afraid she might cry. She just shrugged, even though Olivia couldn't see the gesture with her back turned. "I'm ready for the stupid gown," she muttered.

Olivia approached with the papery gown at the ready, held out so that it would shield Amanda and that she could easily slide her arms through. Amanda slipped into the garment, and then Olivia helped her semi-stand to tie it in the back, which was an enormous effort, as her legs were trembling like crazy. Amanda collapsed weakly to the wheelchair, steadily becoming aware of a new discomfort, a pressing urgency. She groaned and put her head in her hands.

"What's wrong, honey?" Olivia asked. "Are you hurting?"

"No," Amanda muttered. Tears pricked her eyes. "Can you leave me alone for a minute, Liv, and shut the door?"

Olivia looked at her hesitantly. "What's going on, honey? Do you need me to get someone? You're really weak and practically slumped over in the chair, so I don't think you should be left unattended in this bathroom."

"Well, too bad, because I need a minute," Amanda spat. "I need just a moment of privacy. Can you just leave me be?" She glanced desperately at the toilet, wheelchair accessible with handrails, and just hoped she would be able to pull herself up and onto it without landing on the floor.

Olivia looked at her very kindly. "Amanda, it's okay," she said. "It's not a big deal. I can help you, or a nurse can. But we absolutely can't risk you falling and hitting your head after brain surgery."

"I'll pee by myself, thank you," Amanda shot back. "Please, Liv. This is awful."

"I get that, sweetheart. But you know what? No one is thinking twice, or judging you. This happens all the time in hospitals, to everybody—there's not all that much privacy with anything. You're recovering from surgery, so you might need a little extra help in this area. Nurses and doctors are used to dealing with bodily functions."

Amanda covered her face in her hands, unable to stop the flow of humiliated tears.

"I know," Olivia whispered. "Let's just get this over with, okay? I'll help you instead, if you want. Remember that night I was drunk? There are some memory blanks, put I'm pretty sure I peed with the bathroom door open too, before I passed out. "

Amanda laughed from behind her hands. "Leaving out details, Liv?" she said. "This drunk story is turning into a saga."

"I think that about covers what happened," she said lightly. "And maybe I'll tell you some of my other stories, if you let me help you out. Maybe."

So, Amanda finally conceded, letting her friend assist her with an exceedingly private matter. Liv kept things as discreet as possible, simply helping her transfer to and from the wheelchair without falling, and standing just outside the door for everything in between so that Amanda could use the bathroom in peace. Then, she wheeled her over to the sink so she could wash her hands, and Amanda saw herself in the mirror for the first time since she had banged her head so viciously, in that other hospital bathroom not unlike this one.

She held back a gasp. Her face was ashen, and her head was wrapped in bandages that covered most all of her hair, just a few wisps of blonde peeking from the thick white gauze. She had sunken eyes, and her forehead was mottled purple, black, and blue—she had hit her head from all sides and angles that day, trying to bash her life away. She hands shook under the hot water at the memory. "I'm ugly, Liv," she choked out.

"You're not ugly, Amanda. You're hurt."

"I did this to myself."

"Yes, you did," Olivia acknowledged gently. "But you're going to get help. You're going to get better."

"How do you know?"

Olivia wheeled her around to face her. "Because you're Rollins," she said simply, kneeling down in front of her again. "You're tough, and you're strong, and you don't know when to quit," she said wryly, cracking a brief smile. "Even though I know you've felt like giving up lately." Gently, Liv stroked her cheek, then frowned. Carefully, she felt Amanda's cheek again, first with an open palm, then with the back of her hand. "You definitely feel feverish. I'm having someone look you over-no excuses, Amanda," she said sharply, before Amanda could even open her mouth to protest.

Olivia quickly wheeled her out of the bathroom and towards the nurse's station. Amanda had thought that she had just been flustered because of the rush, from all those feelings for Liv she was fighting to tamp down. But now, shaking with chills in spite of the heat radiating off her, she realized that something was wrong.

* * *

The fear, the doctor said, was meningitis, a risk factor with her type of brain surgery. He gravely explained the procedure of craniotomy to Amanda, how they had cut into her skull and removed a large flap of bone to expose her brain and suction the bleeding, and how that had left her susceptible to potentially fatal infections. All the while, Amanda squeezed Olivia's hand tightly, breathing in and out through her nose, her stomach rolling, her mouth watering, a warning that her body wanted to throw up(she likely would have if her stomach had anything left to expel). Her fever could mean inflammation of the membranes covering the brain and spinal cord, and they needed to draw blood and do a spinal tap to rule that out. The nurse reinserted Amanda's IV so that they could deliver antibiotics intravenously as a preventative measure—if she had meningitis or any other form of infection, they couldn't afford to waste any time.

Amanda was separated from Liv, then, to undergo a battery of tests; bloodwork, a CT scan, and an MRI to check pressure in the brain; the spinal tap procedure would be contraindicated if there was any residual swelling from surgery. She was weak and limp with fever, her heartbeat erratic with fear at the thought of the spinal tap, and she couldn't help but want Liv desperately. She wanted Olivia to hold her hand and stroke her cheek, to keep her grounded. She wasn't so much afraid of being punctured with a long surgical needle as having someone at her back—she didn't want a person behind her right now, doing things to her that she couldn't see. Delirious with fever and the morphine and the exhaustion, her mind could too easily succumb to unwanted memories; time could too easily blur for her. Sure enough, when Amanda felt the building pressure in her back from the insertion of the needle, it was Patton's hands pressing down on her back, pinning her face down on the precinct floor as he prepared to take her from behind. Amanda screamed Olivia's name through the procedure, over and over, and she was still screaming it when they wheeled her back down to the regular exam room, where Liv was waiting for her.

Olivia sat her upright in bed and cradled her against her chest, shushing her repeatedly, reassuring her that she was there. "I'm here, honey, I'm here," she murmured, again and again. "I'm right here, Amanda. I'm here with you. I've got you."

Finally, Olivia's voice broke through, and Amanda was no longer on the precinct floor, Patton thrusting inside her. Still, she actually hurt in the place that he had penetrated all those years ago, felt a phantom pain that she couldn't explain and that compounded her confusion. The two times in the office that he forced herself inside her from behind, she had bled for days, throwing away pair after pair of panties, finding it hard to sit or even walk. She sobbed incoherently, trying to speak through the haze of fever as Olivia rocked her in her arms in the familiar way that usually soothed and comforted her, but now was having little effect. "Shhh," Olivia whispered. "I can't understand you, sweetheart. Take a breath and tell me."

"He—he pushed inside me—how could I let him do that to me there? I don't want anyone touching me there…"

"Shhh," Olivia hushed again. "You're having a flashback, 'Manda. Just a bad flashback, okay? Whatever happened is over now. It's over, sweetie."

"Liv, how could I keep going back?" Amanda wept, hot, flushed, unfocused. "It could have been over sooner."

Olivia's arms tightened around Amanda as she rocked her back and forth. "Sweetheart, I'm not sure exactly what you're talking about. Go back where?"

"His—his office."

"His office? Whose office, honey? Chief Patton's?"

Amanda nodded against her chest.

"Okay," Olivia whispered. "Are you telling me something happened in Patton's office? Did he rape you in his office, Amanda?"

Amanda cried so hard she couldn't breathe, her chest heaving, the air not reaching her lungs.

"Shhhh…." Olivia soothed again. "You can tell me when you're ready. It's okay, sweetie. Breathe, Amanda. Just breathe."

But Amanda just couldn't catch her breath, so a nurse had to come in and coax her out of Olivia's arms so that she could put an oxygen mask over her nose. Olivia grasped her hand tightly as Amanda struggled to get enough air, until she was slowly able to inhale without choking. Her body trembled from chills and the intense stress of the day, quite literally in critical condition. When she looked up to meet Olivia's eyes, she saw that her friend's face was completely awash with tears.

"Sweetheart, it's getting late, so I need to call Lucy and see if she can spend the night with Noah. If she can't, is there someone I can call for you? Your Mom, maybe? Your Dad? Your family should be here with you if they can. Maybe they can fly up from Georgia. "

Amanda gazed at Liv, a slow tear making its way out of the corner of her eye. She had no interest in her parents coming- even if they weren't too preoccupied by gambling or pills to answer the phone and hear what was happening. Amanda weakly pushed the oxygen mask to the side. "I wish I could talk to my sister," she whispered.

"I wish I could make that happen, sweetie, but she's a fugitive from the law." Olivia lifted the hand she was holding and gently pressed her lips against it in a kiss. Amanda's eyes widened in surprise. She felt the rush again, her heartbeat all aflutter. Would this be one of the last times she felt like this? Olivia quickly lowered their joined hands and then swiped away tears, averting her gaze from Amanda. Seeing her friend like this made her ache.

"Please don't cry, Liv," she whispered. "If something happens to me, and I don't get better, maybe it's for the best. I did this to myself, and I don't want you upset or away from your son or worried—"

"Excuse me?" Olivia scoffed incredulously, meeting Amanda's gaze again, her tearful eyes bright, fierce. "You don't want me to worry? It's a little late for that, Amanda. And don't give me that shit about it being for the best. Are you saying that you're just going to lie there and quit _now_? That you aren't even going to fight to recover? I'm sick of watching you throw your life away, watching you give up when things are difficult."

For a second, Amanda burned with more than fever, a white-hot rage moving through her. But she was too tired to hold onto anger. "So go, Liv," Amanda whispered. "Leave me be. Go live _your _life."

Olivia sucked in her lower lip and tilted her head slightly, her expression inscrutable, hard to read. She slipped her hand out of Amanda's and then turned and walked out of the room.


	20. Chapter 20

**Chapter 20**

Amanda succumbed to her fever, listless and disoriented on the bed, temperature steadily climbing, body trembling with chills. She hoped that whatever was going on in her body wasn't contagious in any way—she and Liv had been up close and personal all day, Olivia holding in her arms countless times, wiping her tears, cleaning her after she had thrown up, helping her in the bathroom, and she didn't want anything transferred to her or her little boy. When the doctor came in to check on her, he gave her the news that she didn't have meningitis, which filled her with relief; she knew that could sometimes be transmitted to others. She tried to follow the rest of his conversation, to listen and pretend to care about her medical condition, even as her eyes slowly drooped closed. "Infection of the skull bone—alarming fever—brain could abscess—possible need to re-operate."

It took several second for the last words to register, but once they did, her eyes blinked open. "No…" she mumbled. "No more operations." But, she was gazing at an empty exam room, the doctor gone. She wondered for a confused moment if he had ever been there at all. She would tell him when he came back that she didn't want any more surgeries. Let the infection run its course, let her body give out if that was meant to be.

Liv had been right—she wasn't going to fight what happened to her, wanted no special measures taken medically, was resigned to whatever would happen. And she was right that things were unbelievably difficult now, that this was the lowest point in Amanda's life. But that wasn't why she was giving up. For weeks, she had been teetering on the edge of a deep, dark abyss, and Olivia had been the one person pulling her back from the brink. What if she fell into the abyss and took Olivia with her? It was better for her to be swallowed up by her own darkness then to bring down her friend. She had seen Olivia's face, tense with worry and emotion for her, tears welling in her eyes and clinging to her lashes. Olivia had looked at her like she was worth something, like Amanda Rollin's life meant something, and Amanda had wanted to gently set her straight, to reassure her that whatever happened would be no great loss. But instead she had only upset Olivia, succeeded in pushing her away, like she did everyone. The frail blonde woman let the tears come, too tired to wipe them away, letting them run down her cheeks and into her ears, tasting them salty in her mouth. Her fever climbed.

Amanda lost time—it could have been a minute or hours of lying there alone. But, when she finally turned over on her side, she saw Olivia by her hospital bed, and her heart somersaulted. "Liv," she croaked, both smiling and crying from the relief. But then she saw the other woman's face. She was gazing at Amanda with a look of indifference, her dark eyes disdainful. "I know what happened, Rollins. Why did you keep going back to him? You just threw yourself away, like always."

"I'm sorry, Liv," she whispered.

"You're sorry?" she scoffed. "You wanted it."

Amanda went cold, her whole body shivering with shock and betrayal. She momentarily covered her face with her hands, unable to look at Olivia, and when she took them away, Olivia had already gone again. Yet she hadn't left Amanda alone in the hospital room. She could feel someone breathing on her neck, hot, heavy exhales; the weight of someone in the bed beside her, pressing the mattress down. Amanda tensed, her mouth opening to scream, but no sound came out. She tried to move but found herself completely paralyzed, every muscle frozen, her throat tight and silent. "You want it," the voice drawled. And Amanda couldn't negate him, couldn't protest, no matter how much she wanted to, because she was voiceless. His callused hands were around her neck, choking her, and everything went black again. She was staring into the abyss.

The hospital room suddenly flew back into focus, the florescent lighting making her eyes water. Olivia was standing beside her bedside again, dressed differently than she had been before—she was more casual and comfy now, wearing a baggy grey sweater and pair of dark jeans. A series of small, panicked whimpers burst past Amanda's lips; she could vocalize again, though her cries were weakened. She saw Liv's mouth moving, forming words, but their meaning didn't register at first. Olivia repeated herself, and Amanda's finally heard her through the warm, heavy haze. "It's okay, honey. It's okay, Amanda. It's okay. Shhh—calm down."

"I don't want it," she said, her voice strangled, as if the hands were still clutching her throat. "Please, Liv, believe me."

"Believe what, baby?" Olivia asked. "I'm not sure I understand what you're talking about." She put a hand on Amanda's heated cheek.

"He was in the bed with me just now. But I didn't want that. I never wanted any of it."

"There was no one else here, Amanda, I promise. The fever's giving you bad dreams," she soothed. "The nurse said you've been out since I went home to check on Noah and Frannie." Olivia swallowed audibly. "You're very sick, sweetheart."

"I was awake," Amanda argued. "You were here when he got in bed with me." Her vision blurred with a film of accusatory tears.

"Honey, there is no 'he.' You've just been having a lot of flashbacks lately, and your temperature is so high that you're confused. And I've been gone for the past two hours—I went home to spend some time with Noah and change clothes. Lucy's staying the night, so I can be here with you. I don't want you to be alone."

"I—I can't keep things straight. I can't keep track of things."

"Shhh…you don't have to, honey. There's nothing you need to worry about or keep track of right now. All you have to do is rest and get better. Put all your energy into fighting this infection, and don't you dare give up."

"I'm so sorry, Liv."

"_I'm_ sorry, Amanda. I shouldn't have gone off on you before, and I shouldn't have left the way I did without telling you where I was going or that I was planning to try to come back. I was just so worried about you. I hate to hear you talk about your life like it doesn't matter, and I would hate to see anything happen to you." Liv tucked in her bottom lip, an expression that Amanda had come to realize meant she was battling an emotion, possibly tears.

Amanda gazed back at Olivia, chewing her own lip, wondering how her usually razor-sharp, perceptive boss could be so misguided when it came to a person. She knew that Olivia need only learn the details about her, starting with what took place in Patton's office all those years ago, followed by everything that happened after: the countless trips to the casino, all the big bets gone horribly wrong, plunging her into debt; those drunken nights when she ended up in a stranger's bed or passed out on the floor or vomiting over the toilet; her rare talent for lashing out and shoving away anyone who might care about her; her inability to succeed on the job, despite her drive and desire and dedication; how she failed repeatedly at work and at love and at life. Liv would find all of it out soon enough, and the next time she turned and walked away from Amanda, it would be for good. A single tear trailed its way down her cheek.

"Don't cry, sweetheart," Olivia whispered. "Please don't get yourself upset."

"I don't want you to leave," Amanda admitted, and Olivia wiped away more tears with her hand.

"I'm here now, Amanda. I'm right here. I'll be here for you as much as I can."

Amanda shivered, teeth chattering even as the heat wafted from her body, and Olivia reached for a blanket and tucked it around her. "Do you think you can get some more sleep, honey? It's getting pretty late, and it's likely gonna be a long night, with people in and out of here monitoring you. We should both get some rest while we can."

"Okay," Amanda whispered, but she could feel her stomach knotting with dread and unease. After being so sure that Patton was strangling her in her hospital bed, the thought of closing her eyes and sleeping hardly seemed like an option. Yet Olivia had already picked up an overnight bag, headed into the attached bathroom where she had tended to Amanda earlier, and shut the door.

The instant she was alone, Amanda instantly tensed in fear and expectation, ears straining for footsteps, waiting for the mattress to dip behind her. She concentrated on the sounds of Olivia brushing her teeth, the rush of water from the faucet, straining to stay awake, be present, keep sane, even as fever and infection muddled her brain. Finally, Olivia emerged from the bathroom, just as Amanda glimpsed motion in the doorway to her hospital room. Patton was advancing on them both. "Liv's, he's coming in!" she gasped.

Olivia padded over to her quickly. "Shhh, sweetie. It's the nurse. Just the nurse." She slipped a warm hand into Amanda's and pressed her palm reassuringly. With effort, Amanda shifted her eyes and saw that it was indeed the petite nurse with turquoise scrubs, not the tall, loping figure of her former boss. Still, she squeezed Olivia's hand tightly as the nurse came over and checked her vitals and her temperature—103.5 degrees. The nurse frowned worriedly, muttering something to Olivia about hourly checks, a middle of the night MRI and CT. Everything sounded muffled to Amanda, and she started to drift off, her hand growing limp in Olivia's. As soon as her Sergeant loosened her grip, though, Amanda jerked awake, frantically seeking out her boss. Liv shushed her gently. "Close your eyes," she murmured.

"I can't," Amanda replied. "I'm scared, Liv."

"I know, but you're safe," Olivia whispered reassuringly.

"I don't feel safe."

"I get that, Amanda. Is there anything I can do?"

Amanda sniffled, hesitating.

"What can I do, sweetheart?"

"Can you—could you hold me?" Amanda finally asked, her voice very small.

Olivia gazed at her tenderly, motioning for her to make room. As soon as she had scooted back, Liv climbed up on the bed and then reached for an exhausted Amanda, gently tugging her into her arms. The younger woman laid her head on Liv's chest, soothed by the cool hand stroking her hot, flushed face. "You're safe," Liv reiterated. "You're safe."

Amanda nuzzled her cheek against the weave of Olivia's soft, grey sweater, dimly aware that she had openly asked for something that she would be ashamed of when she was well—if she became well. She felt a gentle kiss land on her forehead, just below the bandages, and she trembled in response. "Are you still cold?" Olivia asked. "I can put another blanket around you."

"A little, but I'm warmin' up," Amanda mumbled. Olivia adjusted her arms more snugly around her, her body heat mingling with Amanda's, the younger woman's chills subsiding somewhat. "Go to sleep, sweetheart," Olivia whispered.

"I'm afraid to," Amanda admitted. "I'm safe here, now, with you. But I might not be if I fall asleep. I keep seeing him, smelling him, hearing him. At first, it was just in my dreams, but now it happens when I'm awake, too. I can even feel his hands on me sometimes."

"I know that, honey. And I'm sure it's hell. It was hell for me, thinking and dreaming of Lewis."

A slow anger overtook Amanda, simmering alongside her fever. She had been properly sickened at what Lewis had done to Olivia before, when they hadn't been close. But now, the thought of him tying her up, taping her mouth, beating her, bruising her, burning her, filled her with a steadily building rage. "I hate him," Amanda said, hands fisting in Olivia's sweater, horrified tears pricking her eyes. "I hate him for what he did to you." A ragged sob escaped her.

Olivia tightened her hold on Amanda, who was shaking profusely. "Shhh, honey, easy. I didn't want to upset you. This isn't about me right now. I just wanted you to know that I understand what you're going through, that it's happened to me, too. That you're not alone. I shouldn't have brought up my own situation. Settle down, 'Manda."

"But I'm glad you told me, Liv. I'm _honored_ that you shared that with me. I'm just so angry at the thought of anyone doing _anything _bad to you, let alone the things Lewis did," she said, raising her head from Olivia's chest to look into her boss's stunned, dark eyes. "You don't deserve to be hurt like that."

Olivia's brows raised in challenge. "And you do?" she asked. They regarded one another intently for a minute, before Amanda broke and looked away, shuddering with more tears.

Liv sighed, pulling Amanda's head back against her chest, urging her to lie down again. "Oh, sweetheart. What am I going to do with you?" she whispered. "When are you going to stop blaming yourself for what happened with Patton? I know you know better than this."

"No, _you_ don't know, Liv—you don't know the details—"

"You're right, I don't," Olivia murmured. "I may not know every detail of what you been through. But I know that something more happened than what you've shared. And I know that whatever happened is eating you up inside. You need to talk to someone, Amanda. You need to get this out."

Amanda cried, her tears dribbling onto Olivia's sweater, and Olivia cradled her head closer. "Will you talk to someone, sweetie? When you're feeling better? Can you promise me that?" she asked.

"_If _I get better, Liv," Amanda reminded, and Olivia turned her cheek so that Amanda was looking up at her.

"Getting better is the_ only_ option, Amanda. Do you hear me?"

Amanda nodded slowly. "Okay, copy that," she said, her familiar response to an order from Olivia, but whereas before it had been a monotone or sarcastic response to Liv's on-the job commands and reprimands, it was now a familiar phrase between friends, words laced with affection and respect. "I'll do my best, Liv," she promised.

"Okay," Olivia whispered back. "Now go to sleep." And Amanda complied, drifting off to the steady thrum of her friend's heart.


	21. Chapter 21

**Chapter 21**

Amanda's sleep was anything but restful, especially with all of the middle-of-the-night medical attention- vital signs and blood drawing, heavy doses of IV antibiotics and two head CTs. Worst of all was a painful examination of her surgical site, in which Amanda howled with pain, feeling an exquisite, white-hot agony as the doctor prodded and poked and cleaned her inflamed incision. Hospital staff hadn't known that they needed to up her morphine, because Amanda had failed to communicate her pain, resolute in ignoring the slicing sensation that was beginning to return to her head, whimpering and moaning and resisting care with all the doctors and nurses that came into her room. The fever was making her increasingly disoriented, and Olivia had become the only person she wanted near her.

The older woman stayed with her as much as could through the battery of tests, or was just outside the room waiting—after the particularly excruciating exam, she rushed back to Amanda's bedside as soon as she was able, quick to soothe her and shush her and wipe her tears with the pads of her fingers, chastising her gently for not saying something if she was hurting, for not accepting help and treatment.

"My sweet, stubborn Amanda" she cooed. "Please, please let the doctors and nurses do what they need to make you well, honey. _Please_." She said the last word emphatically, leaning down to press her lips against Amanda's cheek, kissing away one more stray tear.

"I'm not sweet, Liv," Amanda murmured. "You know this. Stubborn—I guess I'll give you that one."

Olivia chuckled softly, her eyes damp. "That's the first coherent thing you've said in hours," she said, laying a hand on her still warm forehead. "Maybe this fever of yours is finally breaking." She bent to plant one more soft, light kiss, this time on the bruised skin of Amanda's temple, and the younger woman's heart burst into a flurry of little beats.

"Olivia—I—" she started. If her fever didn't break, if she didn't get better, this could be her last chance to say what she hadn't said to anyone, not for the longest time, not since she was a small child. But she choked on the three little words that always got lodged in her throat, that hadn't left her lips in years, her breath coming in short, quick, anxious pants.

"What's going on, sweetheart?" Olivia asked, with a twinge of alarm.

"I—nothing." Amanda responded. "Nothing, Liv," she said. She let out a long, shaky sigh of both relief and regret.

* * *

Amanda's fever didn't break that night. In fact, it spiked again as the hours wore on, her high temperature making her dreams vivid, vicious. In the first nightmare, she relived the time Patton had made her take him in her mouth. As had become his way during their office visits, he had cuffed her hands behind her back after he had forced her to kneel, hands fisting in her hair, yanking her head downwards, with the threat that if she bit down on him, he would invite her sister in for a visit to the precinct after hours.

"You know she'll get on her knees for me if I tell her to, if it means that or getting arrested," he growled. "Plus, might be fun, having a three-way meeting with you two." And Amanda had been so sickened and horrified that she had accepted the length of him in her mouth, gagging over and over, the hands tangled in her hair yanking and moving her head repeatedly against her will. Amanda was still gagging when she woke up, and Olivia, who had fallen asleep holding her, startled awake beside her in bed.

The older woman pulled her up into a sitting position and rubbed her back, and a nurse came in and brought them a plastic basin, so that Amanda wouldn't vomit on herself again. Liv murmured to her that it was okay, to get everything up if she needed to, but with nothing but IV fluids in her stomach, Amanda only heaved. "Olivia, please," she whimpered, once her stomach stopped lurching and the gagging had stopped. "I need to get the taste out of my mouth. I can't stand the taste of him, it's disgusting. My mouth is disgusting. I'm disgusting."

"Shhh, Amanda. It's okay, honey. I'll get you some water, okay? It was just a bad dream, baby. Just a really bad dream."

Olivia requested a cup of ice water from the nurse, then held a straw to Amanda's lips. Amanda sucked feebly, swished the water around, then tried to spit into the basin, but she was so weak that most of the liquid just dribbled down her chin. Desperate, she closed her lips around the straw again, trying to repeat the gesture.

"Hey, hey, stop, honey. Enough," Olivia soothed, moving the cup away. "You need to get fluids and take a drink, not spit the water out."

"Soap," Amanda murmured, her eyes glazed. "I need soap. I want to wash my mouth out." She had to get her mouth clean like she had after the office visit, once Patton had pulled out of her mouth and she had finished vomiting and coughing into the trash can beside the Deputy Chief's desk. She had gone home to her Atlanta apartment that night, sat down on the edge of the bath tub, and bit down hard on a bar of soap, eyes tearing up from both distress and the sharp, pungent taste. She sat there crying with the soap in her mouth for an hour, stunned, dazed, and then she had gurgled and rinsed with a whole bottle of mouth wash, brushed her teeth until her gums bled.

"Sweetheart, what's happening?" Olivia asked. "Tell me. What are you remembering?"

"He was in my mouth," she said, and then she dissolved into sobs. Olivia sat Amanda up bed so that she could hold her and rock her, telling her how sorry she was, that it was just a memory, that everything would be okay. Eventually, she rocked the younger woman to sleep, but the nightmares kept coming and jolting Amanda awake, one after the other, some that she didn't remember, others that would stick with her in stark detail even through the haze of fever.

It turned out, though, that the worst dream wasn't about things that had been done to her, but to Olivia. In this dream, Amanda was smoking a cigarette in the alley behind her apartment. The streets of New York were dark, and so was her mind, a turmoil of black thoughts in her head. She went to press the lit end of the cigarette against her wrist when it was suddenly snatched from her hand.

Her eyes flew up into the face of William Lewis. He was standing in front of her, Olivia roughly pinned under one arm. Her hands were bound with rope, and Amanda could see the glint of silver duck tape over her mouth in the moonlight, could hear her short, labored breaths. In his other hand, Lewis held Amanda's cigarette between two fingers. He took a long, slow puff and then let out a leisurely exhale of smoke, grinning.

"I was just about to put that out," Amanda said, her voice quivering. "Give it here."

"You want this?" Lewis asked, with mirth. He lowered the cigarette, the tip a menacing, amber glow in the shadows, moving it steadily towards Olivia's face. Amanda gasped as he ground it against the soft skin of her friend's cheek, paralyzed as she listened to Liv's muffled wail of pain.

The younger woman awoke to the sound of her own anguished scream, one word bursting past her lips. "Olivia!"

She bolted up in the bed, the rough hospital blankets tangled around her legs, the mattress vacant beside her. She was still frightened and caught in the throes of the nightmare, sure that Lewis still had Olivia, that he would mar the person she loved with cigarettes that were only meant to be put out on her. "Liv! Liv!" her voice was stronger now, piercing, and her body was lathered in a cold sweat. The fever had broken.

Amanda heard the scrape of chair legs against linoleum. Her wild eyes landed on Olivia, springing to her feet from the vinyl chair near the entrance to the exam room , tossing a newspaper she had been reading onto the foot of the bed in her hurry to get to Amanda. "Hey, honey, I'm right here. I'm still here, Amanda. It's okay," she said, hastily taking her reading glasses off her nose and sliding them in the side pocket of her jeans. She hopped up onto the bed and pulled Amanda against her. "Shhh—it's alright honey," she reiterated. "It's okay."

"Oh God, Liv, oh God…"

"Shhh. Deep breaths, sweetheart. Relax—I'm right here with you. "

The younger woman struggled to inhale, to orient herself to the room and to the fact that Olivia was seemingly unharmed and here holding Amanda in her arms. But, the memory of Lewis burning her was so fresh and real that Amanda lifted her head off her boss's shoulder to check that her face was really unblistered, reaching up to lightly touch her fingertips to the other woman's smooth cheek, her lower lip trembling. Olivia blinked in surprise, then cupped a warm hand over Amanda's, their skin layered in an intimate way for a brief second that made Amanda break into shivers. What's going on, 'Manda?" Liv asked, gently lowering Amanda's hand from her cheek so she could hold it.

"I— just wanted to make sure you were really here," Amanda stammered. She was still horrified by the contents of her nightmare and didn't dare voice any of the details to Olivia. She didn't want to bring up any graphic memories for her friend—even if Lewis hadn't really burned Olivia in front of Amanda, he had still burned her, many times. Amanda clapped a hand over her mouth to muffle the sob that escaped her lips.

"Oh, honey," Olivia sighed, placing Amanda's head back on her shoulder before beginning to gently rock. "Did you have another nightmare/"

"It was the dream from hell, "Amanda admitted, unwilling to say more.

"You've had several of those these past couple of hours," Olivia commented. "It was a rough night for you, huh?"

Amanda nodded, the long, feverish hours of last night muddled in her memory. She did remember, though, that Olivia had been there through most of it, either holding her or lying beside her in bed.

"Thank you, Liv, for staying with me," Amanda muttered, embarrassed, humbled. "I can't believe I took you away from Noah all night. I'm sorry."

"Amanda, I chose to be here," Olivia said firmly. "I couldn't leave you in that state, not when you were in critical condition like that. You needed someone."

Amanda pulled away slightly, swiping at her eyes. "Well, I made it through the night," she muttered. "I guess I'm here to stay. Guess y'all are stuck with me."

"Looks that way," Olivia said, giving Amanda a warm and completely unguarded smile before leaning down to kiss her forehead below the bandages. And in that moment, a thought crossed Amanda's mind that knocked the breath out of her. She had the urge to return Olivia's kiss, but on the lips. Her heart began to hammer and pound against her ribcage, and she jerked away from her boss and scooted out of reach on the bed.

"What's wrong, honey?" Olivia asked, voice tinged with surprise, concern. "Did I startle you?"

"I—no," Amanda choked out. But her heart monitor was giving her away, punctuating the silence in the exam room with rapid beeping.

"What's up, Amanda? Please, talk to me."

"I just—don't you have to be at work? Or better yet, shouldn't you be getting some rest and snuggling up with Noah for a nap? I know I kept you up all night."

"I _do _need to check on Noah," Olivia assented. "It's after 11 am. But I wanted to make sure you were alright before I went home. I'm worried about you, Amanda, and don't want you to feel alone."

"I'm perfectly fine being alone," Amanda said, much more harshly than she had intended. "I've _always _been fine with that."

"Okay, honey," Olivia said, holding her hands up in concession. "I know you can be on your own. No argument there. But I don't think you're fine with it."

"How do you know what I'm fine with?" Amanda snapped. "You know _nothing _about me, Olivia."

When she saw Olivia's raised eyebrows, she realized she had gone too far. She swallowed hard and looked down, picking at a thread on the hospital blanket. "I'm—I'm sorry," she choked out. "But you have no idea what's going on in my head. "

"You're right, Amanda, I don't," Olivia said, a bit of ice in her tone. "I don't understand how you can come so close to finally getting help, to letting someone in, and then make the decision to shut down when opening up might be the one thing that saves your life. You've almost _died,_ Amanda, repeatedly these past few weeks, because of what you're doing to yourself. So no, I have no idea what is going through your head or what you're thinking."

"And that's not your job or your business to know," Amanda replied. "Please, Olivia, just quit worrying about me and go home."

Olivia heaved an exasperated sigh. "Alright, Amanda, I'll go," she said. "I'll leave you alone, if that's really what you want." And she turned, gathered her overnight bag on her shoulder, and walked out of the room.

Amanda clenched her hands into fists, her fingernails cutting little half-moons into her palms as she watched Olivia leave. The tears welled up in her eyes and instantly spilled over as she replayed the urge to press her lips to Liv's over and over in her mind.


	22. Chapter 22

**Chapter 22**

The hours passed in a slow succession for Amanda. She was exhausted and wanted to sleep, but at the same time was afraid to do so, jolting awake just as she started to drift off, her body refusing to relax without Olivia in the room. Even with a blanket wrapped around her, the fine blonde hairs on her arms stood on end, on high alert; every little noise on the ICU made her flinch and struggle to sit up in bed to investigate, which was hard because she was exceedingly weak and felt dizzy, faint. Still, she repeatedly hauled herself up on one elbow to monitor the doorway to her exam room, breathing with exertion, heart palpitating with both dread and hope every time she caught a glimpse of movement outside or heard the squeak or click of shoes. Dread, because no matter how much she tried to convince herself that it was impossible, she worried that one of the men from her nightmares would appear in the door, Patton or Lewis ready to advance towards her hospital bed. Hope, because even though she had told Olivia to leave, a part of her longed for her to return, was desperately yearning for her to walk back into the room.

Each time, no Olivia. But, an endless parade of hospital staff did intrude continuously, startling her time and again to draw blood, take her temperature and vitals, wheel her up for a final set of brain scans, and give her morphine to treat the splitting, slicing sensation in her head that could bring her to tears. The doctor examined her surgical incision and reported reduced swelling, that her white count was down and the infection was abating.

"You're a lucky lady, Ms. Rollins," he said gravely as he worked her through a full neurological exam, asking her to follow a series of annoying, basic commands, like moving her legs and up and down and waving her arms, reciting her name and date and age and the current U.S. president, counting by 5"s and spelling simple words. He warned her that like any brain surgery, craniotomy could result in lifelong cognitive and memory problems, issues with balance and coordination, and that they would need to perform these kinds of tests over the next couple of days to assess brain function and make sure that all her body systems were operating properly. Not even a half hour after the neurologist left, a psychiatrist showed up at her door, this being the professional that Amanda least wanted to see even though it was exactly the kind of help she most needed. The psychiatrist was a PTSD specialist from Bellevue fourth floor trauma unit, and he wanted to assess her mental status and discuss her impending transfer to psychiatric care, most likely after several more days of recovery in the ICU. Once again, that damn heart monitor gave Amanda away, spiking dramatically at the thought of how long she might be hospitalized. After she mumbled "no" to the usual generic questions about whether she wanted to hurt herself or if she thought she was still a danger to herself and others, she tried to present her case.

"Excuse me, but I don't think that it's ethical to put me on Bellevue's inpatient PTSD and trauma unit," Amanda said, clearing her dry throat. "I think the previous psychiatrist's recommendation was a mistake. See, I'm an SVU detective, and my squad works that unit sometimes and visits and questions sexual assault victims who are inpatient. We know a lot of the nursing staff on that unit by name. I would be treated by people I've worked with, and my colleagues might show up there during my stay. It's the wrong decision," Amanda said. She had been trying to use her authoritative detective voice, but her tone quivered as she finished her pitch.

The psychiatrist turned around in the doorframe and frowned at her, looking at the chart in his hand, which contained her transfer papers and the previous recommendations from Manhattan General Psychiatric. "I generally respect Dr. Porter's judgement and follow his recommendations," he said slowly. "But you have a point about it being problematic in terms of confidentiality and you feeling safe and secure in your care. With people who have trauma histories, the last thing that's therapeutic is to put them into an environment where they feel threatened."

Amanda blinked, having expected more resistance and argument from this new psychiatrist—she struggled to remember the name he had given her; she had been so intent on dismissing him that she hadn't paid much attention. Siefert, that was it. Dr. Siefert. "So, what_ do_ you recommend?" Amanda asked.

"I recommend evaluating you further," Dr. Siefert answered, running a hand through his salt and pepper hair." From the records I have from Manhattan General, your self-admission of trauma, and reports I heard from physicians and nursing staff here on the ICU about agitation, anxiety, and flashbacks, we need to assess you for probable PTSD," he said. "But I can't diagnose you without really talking to you and hearing from you personally what's going on. Only after I've had a full session or two with you can I make an informed decision regarding your care, whether intensive inpatient is a must or whether day hospital or outpatient might be options. Luckily, you'll be recovering here for a few days, so that will give me time to get to know you and come up with good treatment goals."

"What will these full sessions consist of?" Amanda asked warily. "I'm not comfortable sharing any details with a stranger."

Dr. Siefert looked at her kindly, without condescension. "I understand that, Detective Rollins," he replied. "Not many people are. Is there someone you'd like to invite for the sessions? Someone you trust?"

Amanda's heart began to pound, Liv's name on her tongue. She hesitated a long moment. "No," she finally answered.

* * *

After all the unwanted medical attention, Amanda finally did fall asleep at long last holding tightly to her pillow. She dozed lightly until clunky footsteps made her jerk abruptly awake. "Who's there?" she mumbled in alarm, clutching the pillow tightly to her chest, blinking her eyes. "Liv, it that you?"

"Hey there," said a voice, decidedly female but not Olivia's. "I come bearing chocolate."

"Huh?" Amanda mumbled in confusion. She sat up to see who was in the doorway and saw a robust figure standing there, a round-faced, smiling woman dressed in a familiar pair of pink Hello Kitty scrubs. She had a paper bag from Dairy Queen in one hand and a manila envelope in the other, her broad smile making her eyes crinkle.

Amanda raised an eyebrow. "You do know I'm not your patient anymore, right? And that you're at the wrong hospital?"

"Eh, I get confused sometimes," Tanya chuckled, waving a chubby hand in dismissal. She grinned impossibly wider and invited herself into the room, walking right up to Amanda's bedside. "How are you, hon?"

"I've been better," Amanda mumbled. "Obviously."

"Obviously," Tanya echoed.

"What are you doing here?" Amanda asked bluntly, unsure whether to scowl or smile.

"I told you—chocolate!" Nurse Tanya plopped the Dairy Queen bag right on her lap, and Amanda could feel cold seeping through the brown paper and the blankets covering her legs. "A _frozen_ chocolate treat, since I heard you have a sore mouth and it's hard to eat."

"Don't you have enough psych patients to feed without worrying about my eating habits? You came all the way over here to bring me ice cream?" Amanda said dubiously.

"Correction. I came all the way over here to bring you a milkshake. And a card." She tossed the long manila envelope onto Amanda's lap beside the Dairy Queen bag. "Let me tell you, it was a long 30 minute journey from Manhattan General to Dairy Queen to here. Quite the trek, my dear."

Amanda smirked and opened the Dairy Queen bag, hands closing around the cold milkshake. "I suppose I'll drink this, then," she said, lifting the paper cup. She hadn't really eaten or drank much in days, IV fluids alone sustaining her, and she wondered if she would be able to keep anything down. But her mouth felt swollen, her tongue still gouged, and something cold to drink might help. Plus, this quirky nurse had come all the way over here after work, to bring her chocolate. She supposed she ought to at least take a sip of the milkshake.

"You gonna open the card?" Nurse Tanya asked, shuffling from foot to foot in anticipation.

"Sure," Amanda replied. "Some envelope." She smirked at the large manila sleeve.

"The card is big."

Amanda tore open the flap and reached her hand inside. She expected to see Hello Kitty on the card, and she wasn't far off. Inside the envelope was a giant sheet of folded over pink construction paper, pasted with cut outs of the white, curly-tailed Cinnamoroll dog, Hello Kitty's friend, in various poses.

Amanda opened the handmade card to see a message written inside with black sharpie. She cleared her throat. "To Amanda 'Puppy Dog' Rollins," she read aloud, raising her eyebrows. She went silent as she skimmed the rest of the note. _"I know life's tough sometimes. I see all kinds of tough stuff every day, and I see things people shouldn't have to go through. But you know what? You're tough too. I mean, you're a badass detective fighting the worst kind of crime. But there's something else about you. I think your sweet. Not many people are both sweet and scrappy, but you are. And you know what? People like you usually make it."_

Amanda swallowed hard and blinked a few times before she spoke. "Why is it that people keep saying I'm sweet?" she finally asked, pretending to be indignant. "Liv said the same thing. 'Sweet, stubborn Amanda.'"

"Liv totally gets you."

Amanda stiffened. "No she doesn't."

"I think she does. I think she loves you very much."

Amanda's hands twisted the blanket on her lap. "What?" she said, trying to keep the tremor out of her voice.

"She was so shook up that night you went for emergency surgery and we weren't sure if you were gonna pull through. Sergeant Benson totally broke down."

The thought of Liv crying made Amanda's chest feel tight. "She shouldn't have cried over me," Amanda said.

"Oh, but she did, hon."

"Did she say anything?" Amanda asked, in spite of herself.

"She said she wasted so much time with you. She worked real close with you for years, and she never really saw you. And that she was so, so sorry for that."

"We were never close. She always thought I was a fuck up," Amanda said, her chest squeezing even tighter. "There were times she didn't even want me on the force. She never saw anything in me."

"But she sees so much in you now."

"I don't think so," Amanda said. "I threw her out of here this morning."

"Why?"

"Because—" Amanda started, then stopped. She replayed what she had almost done earlier that morning, pictured herself looping her arms around Olivia's neck and leaning in for a kiss. Her stomach flipped flopped, and her heart beat fast and uneven in her chest.

"What's wrong?"

"I'm what's wrong," Amanda snapped.

"Oh, hon. See, that's what's gotten you into this, you thinking that."

* * *

Tanya left her phone number and strict instructions for Amanda to finish her milkshake, and the frail young woman choked down a few more chocolatey swallows. Then, she squeezed her eyes shut and tried to sleep away the rest of the evening, rolling over fitfully in bed every time she heard a noise. She tossed and turned until long after midnight, when she finally slipped off into a dream.

She was cold, her breath visible in small puffs as she stood on a frost-covered street corner, her arm linked with Olivia's, both of them bundled in long pea coats draped with scarves. They stood beneath one lone streetlamp lit for two, New York otherwise dark and still. For some reason, the city was completely quiet, not one car on the road, no bustle of people headed to bars or restaurants or scrambling for a taxi, and the lights on the buildings were out, so that all the skyscrapers were reduced to shadow and silhouette. But it wasn't eerie or unsettling, being on the dark and vacant street, the City That Never Sleeps finally unconscious and silent. It was beautiful, because Amanda and Olivia could see the stars twinkling brilliantly when they titled their heads back and looked at the indigo night sky, usually faint or invisible in Manhattan from all the lights and city smog. The moon was a creamy white crescent, partially obscured by one of the taller buildings reaching for the heavens.

"The city's shut down, Liv, " Amanda whispered in awe, lying her head on Olivia's shoulder.

"It's just us," Olivia whispered back. She lay a gentle kiss on Amanda's hairline and ran a hand through long blonde strands free of bandages. Amanda raised her head off Olivia's shoulder to smile at her friend and boss, her face smooth and bathed in pale lamplight, and Liv leaned down and caught Amanda's lips. They kissed, soft and slow, warming each other beneath a canopy of stars.

Amanda awoke with a start. The dream had been so vivid that her lips were full of palpable sensation, as if Olivia's mouth still lingered on hers. She put a hand over her heart and felt it thumping through her chest. The memory of the dream brought a rush of heat to her cheeks, and her mind replayed the kiss by starlight even as she tried to squash it from her consciousness. But the stirrings of pleasure were immediately replaced by a building sense of fear and mistrust-somehow, this dream had become just as distressing as her nightmares.

Why did she want to kiss Olivia, so much so that she was constantly thinking and dreaming about it? What did this mean about her, and her sexuality? Amanda was perfectly accepting and respectful of all orientations. In fact, she was a strong and passionate advocate for gays and lesbians and bisexual and transgender people just by nature of her job, since these groups were unfortunately more likely to be targeted victims of crime and sexual violence. But she had never before given thought to being anything but straight, hadn't considered the possibility that she could ever be attracted to a woman. Was this why she had never said "I love you" to a man, why she mostly viewed sex as something necessary to a relationship, usually uncomfortable, sometimes coerced? Sex was something that was supposed to be exquisite and pleasurable, but she had never had that experience, the closest time being— she froze, a hand flying to her mouth.

A sudden memory had come to her that made her want to throw up the sips of her milkshake from hours earlier. She was thinking about the time that Patton had cuffed her and put his hands inside her. It was one of the few times that he hadn't penetrated her, but it had been one of the worst office visits for Amanda. Forcing her onto the floor, he fingered and fondled her until she became slick with forced arousal. For weeks, he had been trying to get a rise out of her, make her climax. Pain and disgust and discomfort, he knew he could achieve with her, and that challenge no longer interested him. Now, with each of their meetings after hours, he became more adamant that she orgasm against her will, becoming increasingly angry and obscene the longer Amanda's body didn't respond in the way that he wanted. During that visit, after about an hour of touching her, with Amanda pleading and squirming and try to twist away from him, resisting as best she could, he began to lose his patience. "I'll _make_ you come, you little blonde whore", he snarled, clamping a hand over her neck, slamming her head hard against the precinct floor. He pulled his hand out from inside of her, stood up, and kicked her hard in the ribs, three times, before bending down to resume his fondling. He picked up the pace, kneading, pinching, prodding, rubbing her, and Amanda eventually began to shudder involuntarily, her body arching at his touch, betraying her. "Please—stop—I'm asking you to stop. I'm saying no," she gasped desperately. But Patton chuckled through grit teeth, rubbing her until she spasmed again and again against his hand.

Amanda gagged, tears coating her cheeks, and decided that she was not going to lie in bed any longer. She was still clammy from hours of high fever the night before, the hospital gown pasted to her body, and was determined to have a shower, which she hadn't been allowed in days. Forget the stupid bandages wrapped around her head—she would find some way to keep them dry. But she was going to scrub herself clean under cold water, to rinse away remnants of dried sweat and tears, to rub her skin raw until she felt less dirty and ashamed. And no nurses or anyone else would deny her this opportunity, or insist that she be bathed and changed, or monitor her in the bathroom—it would be a private shower for only her, like showers were supposed to be, and she would have a semblance of dignity, a moment of privacy she hadn't had since she had brutally banged her own head in an attempt to end her life.

She sat up shakily in bed, ears straining for the sound of footsteps, knowing she may only have 20 minutes before some nurse looked in on her again. She had the strange sensation that the room was tilting, that everything was off kilter, and she had to lie back down for a moment and close her eyes, as the ceiling lights above her had begun to whirl in a dizzying way. She wondered when she would stop feeling so faint and weak, where all her strength and vigor had gone, if the vertigo might be a permanent impairment of the head trauma. If that was the case, if she had continued tremors in her hands, and her legs were too shaky to support her, she wouldn't be able to keep her job, to hold a gun steady or give chase to perps or even walk normally. That thought pulled her closer to the abyss, that black nothingness devoid of any hope that loomed up and threatened to swallow her time and again, and made her want to stop living. Her head was weakened, skull already broken—she might only need to get a few good bashes in. Her eyes landed on the blanket on her lap and she wondered if she could somehow tear the rough material to form a noose. And Amanda wondered if these thoughts would ever stop, if she would keep flirting with death until one day she was no longer here any more.

She swung her legs over the side of the bed, undecided on what she was going to do, knowing that she didn't have much time before someone was checking on her for the twentieth time that day. A shower, first, before she tried anything risky. She couldn't stand feeling like this a second longer, so disgusting and unclean. She viciously ripped the IV out of her arm again, tearing it from her vein with a satisfying spurt of bright red blood, happy to hurt herself in some small way. Pushing off of the mattress with trembling hands, she fell in an ungraceful heap on the floor, her body landing with a small thump, and she tensed, expecting a nurse to overhear and come flying in, but no one appeared in the door. Realizing that her legs were wobbly and likely wouldn't support her, she resorted to crawling across the floor on her hands and knees as quietly as she could, blood dribbling from her arm and onto the tiles as she inched her way towards the open door of the bathroom with bated breath.

Luckily, no one discovered her as she pulled herself into the small handicapped accessible room. Once there, she was able to use a metal bar on the wall to pull herself up to standing, staring resolutely at the small walk-in shower a few paces away. Clutching at the cold metal for support with one hand, she counted the steps that she would have to take without falling until she got inside the shower and turned the water on. With her other hand, she fumbled at the ties on the hospital gown until it fell away to the floor and she stood there naked and chilled, every hair on her body on end. She realized her mistake then, that she was nude and barely able to stand with her back to the open doorway, and that she wouldn't be able to see anyone coming up behind her. Whimpering, she let go of the bar and toppled towards the shower, adrenaline propelling her forward a few feet so that she was able to stumble inside the walk-in enclosure and catch herself with both hands against the blue and green checkered walls. She braced herself there, inching herself over to another handicap bar beneath the overhead shower that she could grab onto. No longer caring about wetting the bandages, gauze, or stitches, she twisted the shower knob to cold, gasping as the icy spray hit her. Her knees knocked together, in danger of buckling, but she let go of her support and struggled to pump soap from the dispenser and lather herself with her hands. She realized that she didn't have anything to scrub with, and so raked her nails over her bare skin repeatedly, leaving faint pink scratches, her motions becoming more angry and frantic as she simultaneously soaped and clawed herself under the icy spray.

"Ms. Rollins? What are you doing?"

Amanda yelped and jumped, and that was when her legs gave out beneath her. She fell hard, her chin catching on the steel handicap bar with a metallic bang. She thudded onto the shower tiles, hands out instinctively to break her fall, so that she just narrowly missed smashing her forehead. Blood gushed from her gashed chin and swirled with the shower water pooled beneath her, turning it pink. She screamed as she heard footsteps approaching, knowing she was naked and facedown.

"She's injured—we need to get her up!" a voice yelled above the rush of water. She heard the squeak of the faucet handle and the groaning of pipes as the shower was abruptly shut off, and the drenching, cold spray ceased. But Amanda's screaming didn't, especially as she felt not one, but two pairs of hands pulling at her and trying to turn her over. In her mind, it was both Patton and Lewis, trying to flip her onto her back, to expose her belly up. She thrashed and howled, trying to twist away from the men that had tormented her and the person that she loved.

"Leave me be, leave me alone, get your hands off me," she screamed. Lewis and Patton had rolled her over onto her back, and she covered her breasts with her arms, crossed her legs. "Don't touch me, don't fuckin' touch me-"

"It's alright, Ms. Rollins, it's alright, honey," said a female voice above her. Amanda felt something being draped over her and flinched and screamed, afraid of being touched, and then felt soft terrycloth against her damp skin. A towel. Someone was covering her with a towel. Her body shook with shuddering breaths and quick, gasping cries as she struggled to get a handle on where she was and what was happening to her. Her vision, which had tunneled somewhere dark and frightening the minute she felt hands on her naked body, came into focus, so that she saw two female nurses standing above her, dressed in floral print and light blue scrubs. Still, she couldn't get control of her ragged breathing, a whistling sound in her chest, dark spots swimming in front of her eyes, and she blinked rapidly, trying to see, half believing that the two women standing above her would morph into the men that she hated so much. She felt out of control, crazy, as if reality was tenuous.

* * *

Even after the hour it took for a doctor to give Amanda a thorough head exam, dry and re-bandage her incision, and put five stitches in her chin, she couldn't stop shaking, her body shivering violently long after she had dried off from the frigid shower, even after she was dressed in a new gown and wrapped in three woolen blankets. She was battling a constant stream of tears, her breath still coming in short gasps, flinching every time someone tried to handle her in any way, begging again and again to be left alone, yet terrified of returning to her inpatient room. As one of the nurses began to wheel her in that direction, she gripped the arms of the wheelchair until her knuckles turned white. "I'm not going back," she said, the words barely intelligible. "Don't take me back to that room."

"Ms. Rollins, it's time for you to rest," the nurse chirped, and her false, singsong voice made Amanda feel angry, more unhinged.

"Don't tell me what I need to do," she snarled, thinking vaguely how wrong that Tanya and Liv were, how far from sweet she was. The tears welled up again and spilled down her cheeks.

"Excuse me, but you need to calm down," the nurse said, her baby-talk voice quickly turning crisp. "You're not the only patient on this floor that we need to tend to, and you have not been following medical advice and have been completely combative. I'm hoping that we won't need to call the psychiatrist for an emergency consult, but if this keeps up—"

"Fine," Amanda gasped out. "Okay, fine, you fuckin' win," she said, voice catching on a sob. "Just take me back, then."

But, as the nurse pushed the wheelchair forward, Amanda's chest grew tighter and tighter as she was wheeled away towards solitude, the small room with no exit, where she would be trapped, bedbound, alone. Before she could stop it, a string of short whimpers was bursting past her lips, one after the other. The nurse screeched the chair to a stop in front of the ICU nurses' station, a sleek wraparound counter. "Are you in pain?" she asked sharply.

"I—I need—I want—my friend," she gasped out. "I want to call my friend."

"It's 3 am, Ms. Rollins. It's not time to use the phone," the nurse said. She came into view to stand over Amanda, one bony arm on her hip, heaving a hefty sigh of impatience at what she clearly deemed an unreasonable request.

Amanda's regular young nurse came to her defense from behind the nurses' station. "She's upset—let her try her friend if she wants," she suggested. "You can wheel her back here and she can dial from behind the desk."

Grunting, the nameless nurse briskly transported her behind the desk, handing off her wheelchair to the other nurse. "I'm sure her friend will be real appreciative of the wake up call," she mumbled, and Amanda stomach knotted with a mixture of guilt and hesitancy and longing as her regular nurse handed her the receiver.

"You want to call Sergeant Benson?" she asked softly. Amanda nodded, tears dripping onto her lap at the gesture. The nurse in turquoise scrubs kindly dialed for her, Olivia having apparently left her number, and Amanda pressed the corded phone to her ear, breathing shallowly into the mouthpiece, her heart pounding erratically as she waited to connect with Liv. After four rings, her Sergeant picked up. "Benson," she answered sharply, her voice rough with sleep and alarm.

"Liv?" Amanda finally breathed through her tears. Her voice was weak and tremulous.

"Amanda? Is that you? Are you okay?"

"Liv, I'm so…" Amanda sucked in a harsh breath. "I'm so…"

"Take a breath, sweetheart, just take a breath," Olivia said firmly. "Tell me what's wrong, honey. What are you doing awake? Are you sick? Are you hurt?"

"I'm so scared…"

"Shhh," Olivia hushed, soft and low. "Honey, it's alright. I'm on the line with you, okay? Tell me what's going on. Is someone there with you?"

"N-nurses."

"Okay, good. Good. You're not alone. You're safe, in the hospital."

"I feel alone," she whimpered.

"But you're not, honey. You can get through this, Amanda. Just listen to the sound of my voice."

"I'm sorry, Liv…I know it's late…" Amanda took in another shrill breath.

"It's okay, honey. I'm glad you called me if you're feeling scared, and if you needed someone to talk to. Anyway, I'm used to this, and so are you—being on call late," she said. "You know the job."

"Olivia?"

"Yes, sweetie."

"I'm sorry. I'm sorry I'm so screwed up."

"Oh, Amanda. You're not screwed up."

"I am. I'm a fuck up. There's something wrong with me in the head. There's a darkness inside of me. I realized that tonight."

"There are things going on in your head, yes. You're in pain and you're afraid and you're dealing with trauma. And I know that life feels very dark right now. But there's nothing screwed up about you. "

"Yes, there is. I'm stubborn, remember? And a pain in the ass," Amanda sniffled.

Olivia chuckled dryly. "I'll give you that," she said.

"I want to get through this, Olivia. I want to get past this."

"Good. I'm glad."

"Can you…could you come back to see me later?"

"If you'd like me to come visit with you, then I'll be there as soon as I can."

"I was wondering if you could—" Amanda paused.

"What, sweetheart? Tell me."

"I have a meeting with the hospital psychiatrist in the afternoon. Could you come with me?" she said, the words finally leaving her in a rush.

Olivia was quiet a moment. When she spoke, her voice was tinged with surprise. "You'd like me to sit in with you for your appointment?" she said.

"I'd really like you to."

"Okay, honey. Then, I will."

Thank you, Liv," Amanda whispered. "I'm going to try so hard to be well, to be better."

"I'm proud of you, Amanda."

Amanda cradled the phone receiver tightly to her ear, trying to hold onto Liv as best she could, unable to speak as her throat closed with intense emotion.

"You there, honey? You okay?" Olivia said after some time.

"I'm still here," Amanda finally whispered. "Olivia, I…" she tried. _I love you,_ she thought desperately. But her mouth was cotton dry. "I wish you were with me,"she finally said instead, opting for a less terrifying truth.

"I would be there if I could, Amanda."

"I know you can't leave Noah. Of course I understand that, Liv. But I'm so scared. I'm having so many nightmares, and keep that thinking men are going to come into my room."

"Baby, that's not going to happen, okay? I know that you feel threatened, but no one is going to hurt you."

"I wish you could hold me," Amanda whispered, face heating at the admission.

"I wish I could do that for you, too. You know what? I know you don't like asking the nurses for help. I know you don't like accepting medication. But maybe they could give you something to put you to sleep. Something for the anxiety. It will help you get some rest. And I can be there with you in a few hours, once it's daylight out. Will you do that for me?"

"Okay," Amanda finally assented.

"Okay… I'll wait while you ask the nurse."

After Amanda had requested something to quell her rising panic, swallowing her pride and some sleeping pills, Olivia promised to stay on the line with her until she felt sleepy. For ten minutes, they talked, Olivia speaking to her in a low and soothing tone, telling her about what she had made for dinner that night and how Noah loved peas so much he had stolen them off her plate; reassuring her how much Fin and Carisi and Nick missed her, how much they were asking about her. Carisi had apparently tied a pink balloon to the back of her office chair for when she got back to work. "I guess he thought that was your color," Olivia snorted, and Amanda chuckled through her tears.

"What's my color, Liv?" Amanda quizzed. "You don't think it's pink?"

"Teal," Olivia answered promptly. "Teal would complement your pretty eyes."

Amanda heart skipped a beat. "I guess," she murmured. "You've been studying my eyes lately, Liv?" she asked, a blush blooming across her cheeks. She had meant to keep her tone light, teasing, but the question came out breathy sounding. Was she _flirting?_

"I study everything," Liv answered promptly. "It's my job to notice things. It comes with the territory."

Amanda laughed. "You notice me," she said, smiling through the phone, her heart thrumming pleasantly now instead of pounding.

"Yes, sweetheart, I do."

"Keep talking, Liv," Amanda pleaded, and Amanda listened to the sound of Olivia's voice, her eyes growing heavy as Olivia told her about how she loved colors, that she had taken one painting class in college and been fascinated by all the different shades and tints and hues, and how if she hadn't been a police detective, she might have liked to have been a painter, if she had the talent. "I like to go to art museums and look at the paintings—it's nice to look at something beautiful after all the ugliness we see every day on the job. But I usually go alone or have to drag someone else along. Not many of my friends—or my dates—find it very fun."

"I'd go to a museum with you" Amanda murmured, the drowsiness lowering her inhibitions, sleep pulling her under. "I don't know much about art, but I'd like to see the paintings with you. Even the abstract ones."

Olivia laughed softly. "When you're released from the hospital, we'll go to the MET." She said. "We'll get lunch, you and I, and look at beautiful art. We'll forget the ugliness for a little while." And Amanda fell asleep clutching the phone to her ear, dreaming in bursts of color.


	23. Chapter 23

**Chapter 23**

The sleeping pill, which doubled as a tranquilizer, was enough to knock Amanda out for the rest of the night, so much so that she barely stirred when the nurse gently slid the phone from her ear, murmured a few words to Olivia, and replaced the receiver. Amanda was even compliant when hospital staff maneuvered her out of the wheelchair and into bed, not flinching or cursing at being touched, the norm as of late, as she was unable to bear anyone's hands on her but Olivia's.

Her dreams of swirls and kaleidoscopes of color turned into a rowdy, vibrant game of paintball with her boss. Amanda loved paintball; it had been one of her favorite activities as a tomboy teenager back in Georgia, when she and the neighborhood boys would pick different fields and forests to blitz through in rural Loganville, in hot pursuit of one another, pellets of colored paint pelting their clothes and stinging open skin. A paintball gun was the first gun Amanda had ever carried, and she loved the thrill of the chase and the surge of adrenaline that kept her tearing through grass and stubble, ducking behind old tractors and ambushing her opponents from behind trees. Even then, as young as fifteen and sixteen, she was preparing for the police force without even knowing it, an excellent markswoman who rarely missed splattering the guys, with a superior aim, and speed and grace and grit (she never flinched when hit, even at close range). She also was one to ensure a just and orderly game, a stickler for the rules of fair play, and had once left the field in a huff when Daron Willis, who lived two houses down, shot Rick McMannis in the face, a part of the body off limits.

Though she and Fin had gone to an indoor paintball park in the city once, for an expensive two hours of decidedly tame fun, she hadn't played a real outdoor game in years, not until now, as she tore through a vibrant dreamscape in which she was pursuing Olivia in an open field, the air popping with bursts of beautiful color, the grass at their feet flecked with red, yellow, blue, orange.

"Liv, I'll never catch you," Amanda gasped, a little desperately, and Liv suddenly skidded to a stop in the middle of the field, turned around to face the younger woman, and tossed her paintball gun aside. Amanda tossed her own gun down and barreled straight into Olivia's open arms, nearly knocking them both flat. But the older woman stood strong, locking her knees as Amanda's arms wound around her back.

"You've got me._"_ Liv breathed out. "See? You've got me." Together, they embraced beneath the strong Georgia sun, Liv letting Amanda hold onto her, swaying them gently back and forth. Amanda pulled away to gaze bashfully at the woman she had been chasing, and Olivia gently stroked back a strand of blonde hair crusted in blue paint, leaned forward, and kissed her deeply.

Amanda's eyes fluttered open, her lips all a-tingle. Her heart pumped hard in her chest as she rolled over on her side, then skipped several beats when she saw Olivia sitting in a chair pulled up close to her, reading the New York Times again, glasses perched on her nose. She felt heat rising to her cheeks as she studied the woman sitting at her bedside, dressed impeccably, no longer in the casual jeans and T-shirt as she had been in Amanda's dreams, but donned in black dress pants and a v-neck black blouse layered with a tan blazer.

"Good morning," she said softly, raising an eyebrow. "You certainly slept well."

"I guess I slept okay," Amanda answered, flustered.

"I'd say more than okay," Olivia answered, smirking, and Amanda's face got even warmer, her heartbeat quickening, even though she knew that Olivia couldn't possibly have been privy to her dreams. "You've been snoring since I got here an hour ago."

Amanda rubbed her eyes, groaning. "I do_ not _snore," she grumbled.

"No, you do." Olivia said, with a teasing smile. "I'm glad you got some good rest. I know you needed it." She stood up from the chair, tucked a strand of dark hair behind her ear. "I wish you hadn't insisted on being stubborn, as usual," she said, very gently reaching out to stroke Amanda's cheek with her knuckles, hand trailing down to her banged up chin. "The nurse told me more about what happened last night. How you got up, on your own, without help, and fell in the shower? What if you had busted your head open again? You could have done real damage to yourself."

"I didn't ask for a lecture, Liv," Amanda grumbled.

"A lecture is warranted," Olivia said softly, continuing to stroke her cheek. "Amanda, you need to let other people help and support you right now."

"I'm trying, Liv, okay?" Amanda huffed, exasperated. "I asked you to come to the psychiatrist with me today, didn't I? That wasn't easy."

"And I'm honored that you asked me to come with you, that you trust me enough to be there," Olivia said. "I get that today won't be easy for you."

Amanda chewed on her lower lip. "Alot's riding on this appointment. This shrink I'm seeing, he'll be evaluating me to decide on a course of treatment, if I'll be admitted here and how long. And I have no idea what the hell I'm supposed to say, in front of some stranger."

"Amanda, this man is a trained psychiatrist specializing in trauma histories," Olivia admonished gently. "You won't be talking to some guy off the street. I know it's uncomfortable. I know it's scary. But it's important that you open up and get professional help."

"I've told you again and again, therapy might have worked for you, but it's not for me." Amanda snapped, frustrated, feeling patronized.

"Well, something needs to change, Amanda. But only you can make that decision for yourself."

* * *

Amanda made the decision to be stubborn for the rest of the morning. She refused a breakfast of scrambled eggs and soggy toast, and was bound and determined to no longer wear a hospital gown and change into regular clothes, snarling at the nurse that she was "tired of wearing a damn sheet." She then insisted that she not be wheeled to the bathroom to get dressed, but that she walk on her own, which ended in another scrabble with the nurse and an argument with Olivia. But Amanda was desperate to know if she would be able to use her legs and keep her balance; that she hadn't incurred permanent brain damage from her self-destructive behavior. She was terrified of never being able to walk properly again, of memory loss and difficulty with word recall and chronic tremors, all possibilities with craniotomy and head trauma, and what that would mean for the rest of her life. To her relief, she_ was_ able to walk to the bathroom with Olivia's arm firmly wrapped around her waist—a compromise after a heated debate with the older woman in which Amanda had snapped at her to "back off." When she realized how weak her legs were, how the room felt off-kilter, she had swallowed hard and pleaded for Liv to come support her with a wave of her hand.

"Amanda, this is ridiculous," Liv declared as she guided her into the bathroom. "If the nurse recommends a wheelchair, then you use a wheelchair."

"I want to be on my feet," Amanda retorted. "I've been practically laid up for 3 damn days."

Olivia sighed in exasperation. "You had _brain surgery,_ Amanda. You almost died, twice."

"You've already made your point, Liv. Several times."

"Because you don't seem to be getting it."

Amanda trembled with a mixture of anger and unshed tears. "I _get_ it, Olivia. I do. Do you think I can forget what I did to myself?" she pointed to the bandages wound round her head, freshly re-applied the night before. "Being stuck here in the hospital is a constant reminder."

"I didn't come here today to argue with you, Amanda."

"So, if you want to leave, just leave." Amanda choked out, though it was the last thing in the world she wanted.

Olivia heaved a sigh. "I'm noticing a pattern here, Amanda. You ask me to come support you and be with you and then you push me away, only to ask me to come back again. And it's getting old."

Amanda stopped short and blinked, swallowing hard, the words smarting. She put a trembling hand over her mouth.

As soon as the first tears were streaking Amanda's cheeks, she felt the hand on the center of her back rubbing slowly. Olivia sighed again, softer this time. "Amanda—" she started, then trailed off, as if at a loss for words. She widened the circles on Amanda's back, deepening the touch.

"I'm sorry," Amanda said. "I know how I am. I know I'm impossible, Olivia. You can go, okay?" Her voice sounded strangled.

"Hey," Olivia said, "_I'm _sorry." She rubbed her back steadily. "Listen to me. I won't be pushed away. Not this time, okay? I'm here for you. I'm here."

Amanda sniffled, eyes downcast, studying the bathroom tiles.

"Okay?" Olivia whispered, again. "Come here." Very gently, she moved forward to pull her in for a hug, and Amanda let herself be gathered up, arms winding tightly around Olivia's back, hungry for comfort, yearning for the woman that she loved. She sniffled and shuddered, leaning heavily against Olivia's chest, shivering in the paper-thin hospital gown. "Shh, shh," her boss soothed. "You're alright. You're alright, honey. I'm sorry, okay? I'm sorry I lost my patience."

"I—I know I don't deserve it. I don't deserve your patience."

"Of course you do. You're worth the exasperation, Rollins," she teased, with a chuckle, and Amanda half sobbed, half laughed. Gently, Olivia swayed back and forth with Amanda in her arms, soothingly, as she had in the open field from her dream. "You are so worth it." She lightly scratched her back for emphasis as she said the words. Amanda led out another shuddery sob. "I've gotcha. I'm here." Olivia murmured.

The older woman held onto Amanda till she stopped trembling and crying, then gently pulled back to study her, her dark eyes shining with concern and sympathy, the corners of her mouth lifting in a small, encouraging smile. Amanda's mouth went dry as she found her eyes lingering on Olivia's lips, eyes tracing the contours of them, taking in the subtle sheen of clear gloss that that made her mouth look soft and…kissable. Her heart began to thump very, very fast.

"You alright, honey? What's going on?"

"I'm okay," Amanda mumbled. Her eyes fell to study the tiles of the bathroom floor again. Had Olivia known what she was thinking?

"Okay, so you made it clear to us you're over the hospital gown," Olivia said. "I'm gonna give you a few minutes and I'll go grab your clothes, okay? You think you're steady enough on your feet now?"

"I'm okay," Amanda mumbled.

Olivia nodded, and Amanda used the toilet and brushed her teeth at the sink. She tried her best not to look in the mirror, but her eyes drifted to the glass in spite of herself. The bruising on her forehead was still a deep plum purple, and she could see the red gash at the base of her chin, the dark threads of stitching. The longer she studied her reflection in the mirror, the more knotted her stomach became. Seeing her injuries, mostly self-inflicted, she was embarrassed that she had even thought of kissing Olivia. The other woman was beautiful, with a perfect, unmarred complexion. She was battered and bruised and ugly.

* * *

Olivia must have noticed that Amanda was mopey, quiet, because she suggested a change of scenery once the younger woman had dressed in her favorite plaid button-down shirt and a pair of jeans. "If the nurses and the doctors are okay with it, how about we go to the hospital cafeteria, grab coffee and bite to eat? We've got a couple of hours to kill before your appointment," Liv said.

"I'm not hungry, Liv," Amanda mumbled, shrugging, but she perked up just the slightest at the thought of getting away from the same small room in the ICU, that claustrophobic, institutional space where she had experienced fever and flashbacks, frustration and fear and terrible pain.

"Let's go," Olivia said firmly. "You should get_ something_ in your stomach, Amanda."

With Olivia's insistent support, Amanda walked over to the nurses' station, her sergeant's hand protectively at the small of her back in case she got dizzy or unsteady on her feet again. The nurse hedged and hemmed and hawed about whether Amanda could leave the ICU with Liv, insisting on phoning both the physician on call and the psychiatrist, which made Amanda's face flush with anger.

"I should be able to go get a cup of coffee with my friend," she spat, and Olivia put a steady hand on her back, a comforting but firm cue to calm down. Finally, Amanda was cleared for time off the unit under Olivia's care, with the requirement that she be transferred in a wheelchair. Indignant tears spilled down Amanda's cheeks once again as soon as the nurse had buzzed them out of the ICU, before she could stop them.

"Hey," Olivia said softly, kneeling in front of the wheelchair once they were in the hallway. "It's okay."

"It's _not_ okay," Amanda said, her voice choked, throat tight. "I'm tired of being treated like I am completely breakable. I'm tired of people thinking I'm crazy."

"Amanda, the staff are just doing their job," Olivia said softly. "They have to take precautions and follow protocol."

"Don't talk to me like I don't know how this works, Liv," Amanda spat back. "My sister has been in and out of hospitals. I know how things are for people that are inpatient for reasons like me."

Liv gazed at her patiently, not reacting to her anger. "I'm sorry you're going through this, Amanda," she said softly.

Amanda sniffled, "I'm scared, Liv," she admitted. "I told you I want to get better, and I'm afraid that I won't and that I'll never get out of here."

"I know you're scared. But you _will _get out of here. You're going to get through this." Olivia reached out to massage her shoulder gently.

Amanda let out a shuddery sigh and swiped at her dampened cheeks, so sick of breaking down. For years and years, since she was very small, she had been dry-eyed and stoic, able to push away everything that happened to her, every disappointment and lonely moment and violation of her body. She pretended not to care, like nothing phased her, and those times she _did_ start to feel—the first pangs of regret, or shame, or sadness-she drank or gambled the emotion away. Now, in the span of just a few weeks, she had gone from deadened and numb to consumed by live-wire feeling, repeatedly reduced to fits of crying and sobbing that she couldn't seem control. It was if her body wanted to cry a lifetime of tears.

"I'm going to get out of here," Amanda echoed shakily, trying to believe Liv's words.

* * *

Amanda nibbled at the danish that Olivia bought for her, but was particularly glad for the hot coffee, even if it was from a hospital cafeteria. She drank it black, and the strong, bitter taste took her back to the precinct, when she and Fin would brew a pot of coffee in those rare moments that they weren't working the streets. Every once in a while, they would ignore their paperwork and sip out of their mugs, chatting casually about TV and Frannie's latest antics, weekend plans and annoying chores that needed doing at home, as if they didn't spend their days witnessing the worst of human suffering, immersed in depravity and violence. More often than not, though, they would have to gulp down their cups of coffee before they could cool, scalding their tongues, getting caffeinated for the next big case.

Liv had her own cup of coffee across the round table, her dark eyes watchful and kind as Amanda warmed her trembling hands on the Styrofoam cup.

"So." She said softly. "What are you looking forward to doing once you get out of the hospital?"

"Having my privacy," Amanda answered promptly. "Can't even go to the bathroom in this place without it being a production. And being outside in the fresh air instead of trapped inside. I can't wait to go jogging with Frannie. I miss my girl."

"She misses jogging with you. She practically pulls my arm out of my socket when I walk her, raring to go," Liv said with a smile. "Only I'm too tired for exercise after a day on the job."

Amanda paused, took a deep breath. "That's another thing I really want to do…get back to work."

Olivia studied Amanda, drumming the side of her coffee cup, carefully choosing her words. "Of course that's something we're working towards," she finally answered. "That's our long-term goal, after you heal."

Amanda winced at the word "long-term," a sharp, palpable pain in her chest, so that it was hard to take a deep breath. Liv had voiced her biggest fear, put words on what was making her even more sad and desperate—that she would be released from the hospital without her job, her purpose in life. She felt a helpless rage, but not at Liv this time. It was directed at herself.

"Amanda—did you hear me, honey?" Liv said quietly, reaching across the table to take Amanda's hand. "I said 'we,' because I'm here to help and support you to get better, as much as I can, okay? You're not alone in this."

Amanda nodded. She took a deep breath, pinched the bridge of her nose to stop the onslaught of more tears. Finally, she cleared her throat. "There's something else I'm looking forward to, Liv."

"Yeah? What's that?"

"The MET. You know, when we go to look at the paintings? Even though I'm sure you're 20 times more knowledgeable about art, and I'll end up looking like an idiot."

Olivia smiled. "I know my basic art history, but I'm no expert," she said. "I promise not to bore you with my reflections on light and color when we go."

"You never bore me, Olivia," Amanda said, then flushed at her own comment.

"Oh really?" Olivia scoffed. "All those times I've lectured you about being on time and doing things by the book, you've looked pretty bored and unconcerned."

Amanda was sure the rosy patches on her cheeks were deepening. She knew Liv was teasing, but she felt bothered by the misconception that she was indifferent to disappointing her. "I always care when you reprimand me," she mumbled. "I've just pretended I don't."

Olivia's thumb brushed the back of her hand. "I know," she said simply. "I get that now."

The two were quiet a minute. Amanda extricated her hand from beneath Liv's, self-conscious at how much she was enjoying the skin-to-skin contact. She took a sip from her coffee cup, studying a chip in the table.

"We'll have to think of other places to go, when I get a spare moment away from the job," Olivia said softly. "It will be good for you to keep busy and do things that are fun."

"Paintball," Amanda mumbled.

"What?"

Amanda blushed further, thinking of her dream. "We could play paintball. Indoor parks aren't all that, because it's all artificial terrain, but there's an outdoor park in Jersey about 40 minutes away. I think they have bunkers and obstacles and stuff."

"I've never played paintball," Liv said. "I don't know much about the game other than that you shoot paint."

Amanda shrugged. "You do shoot paint. Sometimes the object of the game is to capture the flag; other times to eliminate your opponents and be the last one standing. It's colorful. And messy. The human body is basically your canvas."

"That does sound like a mess."

"It's a good way to blow off steam. Fin and I played once. I used to play games with the guys in Georgia, when I was a kid. It's fun."

"I'm sure it is. A different kind of fun then I'm used to, but certainly worth a try. We can go, if I can get off and Lucy can watch Noah for a couple of hours."

Amanda nodded noncommittally, even though she was relieved and pleased that Olivia was interested in doing something that she enjoyed. Amanda hadn't been able to put a finger on her unease until now, but she had been secretly worried that polished, dignified Olivia, who appreciated art museums and silent movies, read the New York Times every morning and drank a glass of red wine with dinner, would be disdainful of who Amanda was—a hardened Southern girl who ate takeout, drank beer and whiskey and smoked cigarettes, played paintball and football with the guys, and watched bad reality TV. She wanted Olivia to think she was worthwhile, interesting, fun to be around. She wanted Olivia to like her.

* * *

Dr. Siefert had a kind, penetrating gaze, his dark eyes looking at Amanda pointedly and patiently from behind a pair of thick-rimmed black glasses. Still, Amanda wished he wouldn't look at her all. She could hear the thud of her heart in her ears, and was trying to keep her breathing steady, determined not to lose her composure, to remain unmoved in front of this man who would be deciding her immediate future. She didn't want him to see her flinch, to have him notice her weakness.

"Ms. Rollins," he prodded again, gently. "Can you _describe_ for me what happened to you on the job five years ago? I know it's difficult, but it's important."

"It's—exactly what I said, exactly what you read off the chart," Amanda said, trying to sound just annoyed and impatient instead of agitated. "I was sexually harassed by a colleague—my commanding officer." Wasn't it enough that this man knew the basics of how she had been hurt? It was as if he wanted to peel back the scar tissue to expose an open wound.

Since she and Olivia had entered the small office ten minutes ago—admittedly the most welcoming, least sterile room she had been in days, with a comfortable couch of soft, sinkable leather, small end table with an antique tiffany lamp, and two oversized armchairs—Dr. Siefert had only asked her innocuous questions about how Amanda was feeling, if she was having any pain, how her physical recovery was coming along. There were the routine inquiries about whether she wanted to hurt herself or others. But then he had reviewed the recommendations of the previous hospital psychiatrist from Manhattan General, his notes on what Amanda had disclosed in terms of trauma, and had asked her for _specifics._

"Yes, but in what ways? For how long?" The doctor asked.

"I don't see how that's relevant," Amanda said. "I'd rather not get into the details of what happened. It's personal." Her voice quivered, and she felt Olivia's warm hand slip inside of hers. The other woman had shifted closer to her on the couch, there to support her, as she had promised before the scheduled meeting with Dr. Siefert. When they had gotten back to the ICU room after coffee, Amanda had started shaking and shivering and couldn't stop, and Olivia had wrapped her in a blanket, rubbed her back, and whispered that everything would be okay, that she would be there for the whole appointment. That talking to Dr. Siefert was an important first step to recovery, and that Amanda could do it. Now, starting to tremble once more at this doctor's prying, probing questions, Amanda wasn't so sure.

"I don't mean to make you uncomfortable or to upset you, Ms. Rollins," Dr. Siefert said. "I know these questions are _incredibly_ personal. But a very important part of treatment for patients with trauma histories, and an important foundation for therapy, is giving a voice to the trauma, being able to speak it, and eventually, relive it."

Amanda stared at him incredulously. "Why would I want to relive something I've put behind me?" she stammered. "This happened 5 years ago. This shouldn't even still be an issue for me. I'm not going to wallow in what happened. I'm not going to be a victim."

"But, it seems like it_ is_ an issue for you," the doctor pressed gently. "So much so that you have made several attempts on your own life."

The room was silent, then, for several minutes, Amanda not having anything to say in the face of the truth. Her eyes fell to her lap, unable to take the doctor's steady gaze.

"It may seem pointless, even distressing, but exposure to a trauma and its triggers is actually the way to healing," the doctor said softly. "Particularly in cases of PTSD. It's too early for me to give a definitive diagnosis, but this could very well be something you're experiencing."

"Why now?" Amanda burst out, unwilling to accept this, to believe this. "Why would it take 5 years to develop PTSD? How could I be fine, and function for so long, and then all of a sudden—"

"Delayed onset PTSD is more common than you would think," The doctor explained patiently. "Some people just don't develop symptoms until months, sometimes even years after the traumatic event, and then start to experience distressing flashbacks, dreams, or memories. There doesn't have to be a trigger or a reason for it, but for some, the onset of PTSD may be caused by life stressors or new sources of trauma. And sometimes, PTSD just isn't detected or reported for years. The symptoms are there, but they are subtle. Some people might feel numb, or disconnected. There may not be any flashbacks or nightmares, because they suppress what happened, even forget details. They may deny their feelings, pretend a trauma didn't happen, and engage in avoidance. That can make PTSD more difficult to diagnose, until the symptoms are exacerbated years down the road. What's really going can also be masked and compounded by other problems—depression, anxiety, addiction," the doctor said matter-of-factly.

Amanda went cold, as if submerged in a bucket of ice. "Addiction?"

"Yes," the doctor replied gently. "I understand that you have a history of addiction."

"I'm a gambling addict," Amanda admitted shakily. "And so was my father. My mother was addicted to prescription pills. Addiction runs in my family," she said. "It's got nothing to do with PTSD."

"Addiction certainly can be hereditary, and you certainly may be predisposed to it," the doctor explained. "It's possible that the trauma you underwent may well have made the addiction worse. People with PTSD commonly try to self-medicate, to numb the pain and fear—drugs, alcohol, spending, gambling, self-injury. Which is also something you've struggled with very recently."

"Stop trying to analyze me," Amanda blurted out suddenly. Her heart has begun to beat very fast, and she felt as if all of the air had been sucked out of the room. "It can't be that _simple._ That just because I went through something on the job, it's the reason I'm so fucked up today."

"Amanda—" Olivia reprimanded, squeezing her hand, trying to calm her, to help her de-escalate. But in response, Amanda hastily tore away from Olivia's grasp.

"Of course it's not simple, Ms. Rollins. It's very complex, and that's why you're so scared and angry right now. You may have a co-occurring mental health disorder along with PTSD—depression, anxiety, addiction. You have a painful family history of mental illness. On top of all that, what happened to you at work years ago has made your life very difficult—at times, unlivable."

Amanda trembled with embarrassment and rage. It was as if she were see through, transparent, and the doctor was speaking all her darkest, most shameful thoughts aloud to the room. Worst of all, Liv could hear them. "You don't know me," she said quietly, her breathing coming in shallow, short pants. "You don't know me at all."

"Of course I don't know you, yet," Dr. Siefert said, his voice infuriatingly understanding, even-keeled. "You're absolutely right. But I'd like to get to know you, Amanda. I'd like to help you with your recovery and treatment, if you agree. Whether you need a little more time inpatient, or whether outpatient is an option, I'll have to assess. But I'd be honored to help you heal, because I think you've been struggling for a long, long time."

Amanda broke, then, a rough sob breaking past her lips. "It's alright, Amanda," Olivia said softly. "Everyone in this room just wants to help you, okay?"

"She's right, Amanda," Dr. Siefert said, leaning forward in his armchair, removing the thick-rimmed glasses so he could look straight at her. "The most important part of your treatment, as I said when we first spoke, is that you have a safe space to process your feelings and learn to cope with your trauma. If you can't share the details about what happened with me yet, I understand, though it's my goal that we get you to voice them aloud. Have you ever voiced what's happened to you out loud?"

"Partially—on the stand in a court room," she choked out. "My former commanding officer raped one of his subordinates, and I t-testified… to a p-pattern of his behavior. I described what had happened to me. And e-ever since then…my life has spiraled…" Amanda put a hand over her chest, then, unable to get the words out, struggling to take in air. She wheezed, desperately sucking in short breath after short breath, her fingertips beginning to tingle. "I'm having t-trouble b-breathing," she wheezed.

"Shh, slow your breathing down, honey," Olivia murmured. "Come on, 'Manda, slow down. Look at me."

Amanda's turned her head in Olivia's direction. Her eyes, which were darting desperately around the room, found Olivia's face and locked onto it. Liv scooted closer to her on the couch, hand hovering in the air. It was clear that she wanted to touch Amanda, but didn't want to startle her any further. "That's it, just look at me. Focus, sweetheart."

But as Amanda's breaths came faster and faster, her vision narrowed and Liv blurred. She slumped against the leather cushions behind her. "I can't—breathe," she gasped. She went to reach for Olivia's hand, but found that her fingers had cramped, both hands tightening and curling in on themselves, like coiled springs.

"She hyperventilating," she heard Dr. Siefert say, as if from far away, over the harsh sound of her own breath in her ears. "She needs to take slow, deep breaths."

"Come on, you can do it, Amanda," Olivia coaxed. "Deep, deep breaths. Slow down, sweetie, slow down." She gently took Amanda's tingling, fisted hands in both of hers, trying to warm some feeling back into them, gentling flexing and uncurling her fingers, rubbing the stiffened muscles. "You're getting too much air, okay? It's too much too fast, that's all. You can breathe. You can breathe."

Amanda slumped forward towards Olivia, and the woman understood her cues and put her arms around her, tucking her close against her chest, leaning them both against the back of the couch. "You're going to copy me, okay? Breathe with me. In…" she said, taking a slow, exaggerated breath, "…and out." Her exhale was a soft, prolonged blow. "In…" she coached, "…and out."

Amanda tried to keep time with her, the first couple of breaths tight and painful, whistling in her chest, making her whimper.

"Shh, shh... easy." Olivia soothed. "In and out. Slow, deep breaths."

Eventually, Amanda was able to get her breathing under control, concentrating on the rise and fall of Olivia's chest, inhaling slow and deep when she did, exhaling a long, shuddery breath in time with the other woman. Olivia stroked her clammy cheek, cradling her close. "Good." she whispered. "You're doing great, Amanda. See? You're okay."

Exhausted, Amanda wanted nothing more than to slump against Olivia and sleep. But she was painfully aware that Dr. Siefert was still in the room, observing them quietly. She struggled to sit up and swiped at her cheeks, surprised that they were moist with tears, unaware until now that she had been crying. Olivia stroked back a few the errant strands of blonde hair that peeked out from beneath the bandages, tucking them behind her ear. A moment later, Amanda forced herself to scoot to the side on the couch, moving away from the comforting touch. She cleared her throat, wiped her eyes, and looked at the doctor, who was completely nonplussed by her panic attack, studying both women serenely from behind the glasses again.

"I'm glad you're feeling better, Ms. Rollins. I'm glad you brought someone here who can help you feel safe."

Amanda stared at her lap. "Are we done?" she choked out.

"Yes, Ms. Rollins, I think we're done for the day."

"So, I'll be going back to my hospital room," Amanda said flatly.

"I promise you I'm going to make the best decision about your care," Dr. Siefert replied, picking up on Amanda's unspoken defeat. "My goal is to both protect your safety and have you back to your normal life and daily routine as soon as possible. As for now, I have another appointment downstairs, but you and Sergeant Benson can use my office, if you two want to visit and talk—it'll be free for a few hours. I'll call the ICU and let them know you'll be here."

"Thank you," Olivia said. "We might take you up on that and sit for awhile. I know Amanda's tired of being confined to one room. Understandably so." She reached out to rub Amanda's shoulder, but the other woman recoiled stiffly.

Dr. Siefert shook Olivia's hand, then reached out for Amanda's, but she didn't take it. He was gracious about it, though, only extending his hand for a second before discretely tucking it back in the pocket of his white coat. "Please take care of yourself, Amanda," he said kindly, before walking out of the office and gently shutting the door behind him.

The room was silent except for the soft sound of the two women breathing. Amanda sat stiffly, at a distance from the other woman, her hands clenched tightly in her lap.

"Amanda—" Olivia finally began.

"Please, Liv, don't say anything," Amanda interrupted, her voice quaking. "I just can't talk right now, okay?"

"Okay, honey." Olivia murmured. "But can you look at me for a minute? I want to make sure you're okay."

Amanda chewed her bottom lip, hard, unable to stop staring at her lap. "I can't," she gasped.

"Why not?"

"I'm—so—ashamed."

"Why, sweetheart?"

Amanda couldn't articulate, couldn't put words on why everything felt so unbearable right now. The appointment had left her feeling unhinged, unraveled. She knew that it hadn't gone well—in just twenty minutes, Dr. Siefert had shone a light into the darkest corners of her mind, places she couldn't bear to look at—that she was a victim, that she was sick, that she was weak. And Olivia had seen and heard it all. How could Liv like her? How could Liv even look at her? And what was more…

"He's going to admit me, because I'm crazy," Amanda gasped out after a long silence. Her heart thumped in her chest, so hard that she thought it would burst. "I don't think I can bear being inpatient here—not the place where we work. Not as a victim. I can't be a victim, Liv."

"But Amanda, you were victimized," Olivia said softly. "You were raped."

"It's not that simple, Olivia," Amanda snapped. "You're making assumptions. You don't know what happened, the role I played."

"Amanda—"

"No, you don't get it!" Amanda interrupted, her voice raising as a sickening panic swelled within her. "I_ know_ what you'll say, Liv. You're going to tell me to stop blaming myself. To have compassion for the detective I was back then. But you don't know how stupid I was. I was fucking weak, so fucking stupid!" she clapped a hand over her mouth to hold back a sob.

"Amanda, whatever happened—it is_ not_ your fault," Olivia said sharply. "Guys like Patton—they prey off people. You were a young, new detective. Your sister was in trouble. Patton was the Deputy Chief. He was in a position of power. Whatever happened in that motel room—"

"More happened." Amanda said suddenly, the words tumbling out before she could stop them. "More happened than just that night in the motel, Liv."

"So tell me," Olivia urged. "What happened, Amanda?"

"I can't," Amanda said, breathing raggedly again. "I haven't ever told anyone. I can't even admit it to myself."

"But you've already told me bits and pieces, when you were sick, having flashbacks. Tell me what happened in Patton's office. You've been holding this inside for so long, Amanda. It's okay to let go," Olivia said, voice low, soothing, almost a whisper. She put a warm palm on the younger woman's back, rubbing slow, gentle, coaxing circles.

Amanda trembled and put a hand over her mouth, trying to stifle the sobs, swallow her words, so afraid to give voice to what she had let Patton do to her. She squeezed her eyes shut tight, tears squeezing from beneath her eyelids.

Seeing her distress, Olivia shifted towards Amanda on the coach and held out her arms. "Come here, Amanda," she soothed.

"I c-cant, Liv," Amanda stuttered. "If someone touches me, I'll break apart."

"Maybe you need to break apart. It's okay for you to cry, or scream, or curse, or whatever you need to do. Just let me help you. Please. Let me hold you."

Olivia was a blur through the thick film of tears in front of eyes. Amanda's whole body was shaking and trembling at this point, convulsing with hel -back sobs. She half scooted, half crawled across the cushions towards the older woman, and Olivia gathered her up in her arms. Amanda leaned stiffly against her shoulder, holding herself rigid, afraid to melt into her boss's embrace, afraid to surrender, doing everything she could to stifle her cries. Olivia cradled her head with one hand and rubbed her back with the other in slow, sweeping circles, trying to loosen her up. "Tell me, sweetie," she murmured. "What did he do?"

"He—he—" Amanda gasped. "Oh God, Liv."

"I gotcha. You can tell me."

"He was using Kim to get to me. S-said he would arrest her. That he would have her…do things…with him…in exchange for staying out of jail. He said he could keep me out of a job, off the force forever. So I k-kept going back. How could I go back? "I—I—I knew what he was going to do, Olivia."

"Go back where, baby?"

Amanda was shaking so hard it was difficult to talk, so that she kept stuttering over words. "For meetings in his o-office. He kept me after h-hours at the station, and he—Oh God," Amanda cried out again. A loud sob punctuated the room, and Olivia's arms tightened around her.

"I know," she murmured. "I know it's hard to say out loud, honey. He raped you, didn't he? Repeatedly, in his office."

"I don't—I can't—"

"Yes, you can. Yes, you can, Amanda. You can tell me what happened, my love. Just get it out. Just tell me. I've gotcha," Olivia soothed.

"Six times," Amanda gasped. "Six times, Liv," she said. "I met him in his office—six times. I let him do things to me. I knew he was going to rape me. What's wrong with me?" The desperate question burst past her lips in a strangled scream. "I…walked…right…into it…"She suddenly could feel his hands, roaming over her body, squeezing and palming her breasts, then trailing the length of her stomach and cupping her core.

Amanda drew her legs up onto the couch, curling up in a ball, trying to make herself small, pressing herself desperately against Olivia, the loud, anguished screams and sobs bursting out of her unbidden now. In response, Olivia gently hooked an arm around her back and a hand under her knees and pulled her up into her lap, tucking her bandaged head against her chest. "There you go, my love," she murmured, rocking her back and forth like a baby. "Just get it all out, okay? You don't have to keep it in anymore. That's it, sweetheart. That's it. I've gotcha. I've gotcha."

Amanda sobbed and screamed in Olivia's lap, the loud cries filling the small office. She was afraid that someone would burst inside, try to pull her away from the older woman, but no one did. Olivia just held her and rocked her, letting her friend cry against her, the frail detective's tears soaking into the collar of her tan blazer. "I'm right here, baby," she soothed when Amanda's hands fisted in the soft linen material.

"Liv—I can't stop," Amanda gasped, another fit of sobs wracking her body.

"That's okay, sweetheart. I know how long you've been hurting. Just give it all to me, okay? Hold onto me and just cry." And Amanda did. She clung to Liv, releasing the years of repressed pain.

After about a half hour, Amanda's deep, guttural sobbing eventually began to dwindle into softer sniffles and hiccups. Her nose was stuffed, and her head throbbed. Whimpering, her hand fluttered to her temple.

Olivia slowed her gentle rocking, pulling back slightly to tilt Amanda's chin and look into her swollen, bloodshot eyes. "Are you hurting, honey?"

"My head hurts," Amanda said, her throat scratchy, raw.

"Do you think you need more pain meds?"

"No," Amanda whispered.

"Okay," Liv finally conceded. She reclined back against the coach cushions, readjusting Amanda in her lap so that she could lie cradled in her arms. "Why don't you shut your eyes, sweetheart? It might help with the headache."

Amanda's eyelids drooped closed. She leaned heavily against the other woman. "Six times, Olivia," Amanda whimpered incredulously. "I stayed at the Atlanta precinct for 6 weeks after the motel room, and every week he…he…"

"Shhh," Olivia hushed. "I know, honey. I'll listen and hear every detail, if you want, but right now I want you to take a minute to rest, okay? I know how hard it was to share that with me. I want you to give yourself a break."

"How can I give myself a break when I was so stupid? How could you give me a break?" Amanda hiccupped.

"Because Patton did horrible things to you. He threatened and blackmailed you, baby. He threatened your sister. You were just in your twenties, one of the only woman on the police force. He was your commanding officer, and he abused his power over you. Of_ course _I'm going to cut you break, for not knowing what to do, for being afraid, for going to his office when he ordered you to. I am so, so sorry. You absolutely can't blame yourself for whatever happened, Amanda. What Patton did to you—it was prolonged sexual abuse."

"I was so afraid—that you would—think differently of me—if you knew how many times-"

"Oh, sweetheart. Of course not." Olivia tightened her arms around her. "You're the same strong survivor that I always thought you were. The same sweet, stubborn Rollins."


	24. Chapter 24

**Hi, everyone! I'm so sorry that's it taken me so long to update-life got kind of hectic there for awhile! Luckily, I have a nice long chapter for you guys :)**

**Chapter 24**

Day by day, Amanda healed physically. The doctors were able to remove the stitching from the gash on her chin. The deep bruising on her forehead gradually faded from angry plum to a mottled light purple. And the self-inflicted cigarette burns on her hands and arms, once blistering, had become round, raised scars. Even her surgical incision was less raw and gaping, no longer inflamed or infected, closing and mending in the expected way over time.

Emotionally, though, Amanda deteriorated. Since she had admitted to Olivia what had happened in Patton's office, she was having terrible panic attacks, sobbing fits, graphic nightmares that kept her from eating and sleeping. The rest of the time she lay unmoving in bed, feeling a crushing weight on top of her, seeing an endless, dark abyss whenever she closed her eyes.

What made everything so unbearable was that Olivia wasn't available to visit her for the rest of the week. William Mackey's trial had started, and her sergeant needed to spend her days in court. By the time the trial let out each evening, Olivia needed to go straight home to Noah, so Amanda was mostly alone. About the only time that she left her room was to check the evening news on the small, flat-screen television mounted on the wall in an enclosed ICU waiting area for visitors.

Wrapped tight in a hospital blanket, she'd perch on the edge of one of the vinyl chairs, listening intently for any updates about how the trial was going, straining to hear new details of what Professor Mackey had done to his young victims. Yet, she was so nervous to learn the truth of what had happened in that office that her stomach clenched and her mouth watered, a warning she might throw up. When it came to this case, she felt like a useless bystander gawking at the scene of a traffic accident, sickened by the wreckage, but unable to look away, knowing she should do something, but powerless to make a move.

The little that she learned from the sparse news reports, she already knew or had surmised—that Mackey was well respected and never suspected, and many of the college students he taught looked up to him and thought he was a handsome and harmless history buff. But for overachieving students like Jewel, and those kids who were overworked, or anxious, or desperate to succeed, he was a predator. He would hunt down and isolate a weakness—a desire to please, fear of failure, struggle to learn—and then exploit it.

On the third day of the trial, Amanda learned that yet another two Hudson students had disclosed a prior assault and testified about Mackey's behavior in court, which made five prior victims. Amanda counted on her hand. Five young lives ruined, plus Jewel made six. Swallowing wave after wave of nausea, she tried to remember how many female officers had been at the Atlanta precinct when she had left, securing a transfer to Manhattan SVU after her sixth office visit with Patton. There hadn't been many other women on the squad, it being the "Good Old Boys Club" that it was—just Lana and Carly.

Thirty-year-old Lana was tough and proudly described herself as "butch. "She had short, cropped hair; unshaved legs; a penchant for cursing, and an insistence that everyone address her as "Officer Lane;" she wanted to take a harder, more masculine name (amongst many of the guys on the squad, she was called "Officer Dyke," frequently within her earshot). Patton likely wouldn't have been interested in Lane; he would have been turned off by her strong personality and the gender ambiguity (his type was the pretty Southern "good girl" turned cop). But Carly—Cariy was twenty-two and strawberry blonde, having grown up in a small rural county not far from Loganville with five brothers and church-going parents. Amanda remembered that she was fearless and committed and eager to be respected amongst the guys, to prove herself on the force. But she was also soft-spoken, and she wore a crucifix on a gold chain along with her police uniform. Sometimes, she would pray for the perpetrators.

"Carly," Amanda gasped out in a whisper, though she and the younger officer hadn't ever really talked much, Amanda not being a strong believer in a kind or loving God. She could hear her heart pounding in her ears. Hot tears blurred the television screen, the news having moved on from a brief summary about Hudson and Mackey to some other story, the local anchor man's voice an incomprehensible murmur. Had Patton called Carly into his office after she left? How many other women had served under Patton in the 5 years since she had been in Atlanta? Had the Deputy Chief ever gone after any of them? There was a span of unknowable time, until Reese. Amanda counted again and again on two fingers, her hand shaking viciously. Her. Reese. Her. Reese. How many more?

"Ma'am, you okay? Want me to get a nurse for you?," a pale-faced man sitting across from her asked, and Amanda shrieked and gripped both armrests on her chair. "I want you to leave me alone," she gasped, startled and inexplicably angry at this poor stranger with a pinched face and bags under the eyes. "Mind your business."

"I just want to make sure you're alright," the man said, rubbing tiredly at the stubble on his chin. "I'm sure it can't be easy, being on this unit, waiting to feel better, to go home. There's nothing worse than waiting."

Amanda looked down at her lap, wringing her hands in agitation.

"She's been out of surgery for three days—still hasn't woken up," the man continued, his voice flat. "I keep waiting for news that she'll be okay, for her to squeeze my hand or open her eyes, to respond in some way to all those tests to see whether there's any…activity…" he sucked in an audible breath, his hand fluttering to his mouth.

"I'm sorry," Amanda finally managed. "I'm so sorry she's not waking up," she said, not knowing who the man was talking about. Still, she was immensely sorry. She was sorry about so many things. She doubled over and clutched her stomach, gut twisting in remorse.

"Ma'am? Miss?" The despondent visitor's weary tone had become alert, alarmed. "I'm gonna grab you some help. You don't look good."

Amanda was only vaguely aware that the man had leapt out of his seat and was yelling into the corridor. There was a thin, loud cry in her ears, and for a second, she didn't realize it was coming from her. She thought she was hearing the cries of Patton's other victims, the wailing of the young girls in Mackey's office.

* * *

At the end of Amanda's appointment the next morning, Dr. Siefert suggested medication. Slumped over on the couch across from the psychiatrist, head bent, the exhausted detective didn't talk for much of the session until the end, when her helpless eyes finally sought out the doctor's benign, patient gaze. "I don't feel well," she choked out. Resigned tears welled in her eyes and spilled onto her cheeks.

Dr. Siefert nodded in understanding. "I think that there's something that can help. Have you ever been prescribed any psychiatric medications?"

Amanda stiffened, but only for a moment. She shook her head no and kept her gaze on the doctor, listening as he went through a list of possible medications that could treat the debilitating depression and PTSD symptoms she was experiencing, curb her anxiety, help her sleep. By the end of their nearly silent 50 minutes together, Amanda had agreed to try Zoloft, with the doctor also writing her scripts for Ativan, to be taken as needed, and Ambien, so that she could hopefully sleep through the night.

That afternoon, Amanda took her first dose of Zoloft with a chocolate milkshake, brought to her courtesy of Tanya. She was so desperate for relief that she was only marginally ashamed of swallowing the antidepressant in front of her former psychiatric nurse turned friend. The other woman had coaxed Amanda out of her room, bribing her with chocolate again. Amanda accepted this frozen treat over the chocolate Ensures that the nurses kept urging her to drink, nutritional supplements to help her gain a few pounds, as she had become so underweight that virtually none of her clothes fit, her jeans hanging loosely on her hips, favorite plaid shirt so baggy that it looked like she was being swallowed in flannel.

"I also brought entertainment," Tanya announced, and she dragged Amanda into the little glass-enclosed waiting room for some "adult coloring," haphazardly dumping out an entire box of Crayola crayons so that they scattered across the small coffee table.

Amanda raised her eyebrows at the two Hello Kitty coloring books that Tanya pulled out of her oversized purse. "I think those coloring books are meant for kids," she pointed out quietly. It was about as much as she had said in almost a week.

"Hey, look at the cover. It says ages 3 and _up_," Tanya retorted with a grin, grabbing a pink crayon and opening her coloring book to a random page of Hello Kitty holding a large cut-out heart. Promptly, she began coloring in the trademark big bow with round, carefree strokes, much like a child would color. "This is relaxing and fun, trust me," she said, beady eyes squinting in concentration.

"I can see you're having fun," Amanda said, lip quirking upward in the smallest of smiles. She picked up her book and began flipping through the pages. "Let's see…how many ridiculous poses can they come up with for one cartoon cat?"

"Hey!" Tanya said, with mock indignance. "She's hardly just a 'cartoon cat.' She's an adorable sensation. How many other animated characters have their own product lines? She's been on toothbrushes, school supplies, jewelry, furniture, houseware…should I go on?"

"Please don't," Amanda mumbled. She stopped on a page of Hello Kitty peeking over the edge of a coffee cup and shook with quiet laughter. "Hello Kitty takes a swim in her Starbucks," she said.

"Oh, yeah, coffee cup Kitty. Hey, every girl needs her caffeine."

Amanda absentmindedly picked up a crayon labeled "Sky Blue" and began lightly coloring in the mug, smiling in spite of herself. "Liv likes art," she said off-handedly. "I'm sure she'd be sad to miss out on these Crayola masterpieces."

They colored in silence for awhile, and damn if Tanya wasn't right. The activity was soothing, almost hypnotic. Refusing to give her Hello Kitty a cliché pink or red bow, Amanda picked out a green crayon and began to lightly shade within the lines. "I miss her," she mumbled, after awhile.

"Where's she been at?"

"Helping to put a bastard behind bars. Taking care of her son. Doing better, more important things than coming here." A tear pinged the coloring book page before Amanda could stop it.

"Puppy dog, that's absolutely not true. I'm sure she'd be here if she could."

"I don't expect her to be. She needs to be at a trial, making sure a rapist gets put away. Son-of-a-bitch was a teacher who assaulted a bunch of college kids in his office. I should have been helping to get justice for those girls—but I couldn't handle it. Couldn't deal with it."

"Not an easy thing to deal with, if you ask me," Tanya said. "Helping so many people who have been hurt and attacked—that's not something just anybody can do."

"Well, it's something I _need_ to do," Amanda said sharply. "I'm an SVU detective. And if can't help victims…" her throat closed.

"I think that you can't be helping anyone until you help yourself," Tanya murmured, reaching out to squeeze Amanda's small hand in her large, chubby one. "Which is what you're doing. And that, my dear, is pretty badass."

"Yeah, I'm a real badass," Amanda chuckled through her tears. "I'm sitting here coloring a picture of Hello Kitty."

Tanya smiled and shrugged. "I know you're humoring me," she said lightly. She paused a moment. "Now, you know what would be really badass? If you told Sergeant Benson how you feel."

Amanda pressed too hard coloring in Hello Kitty's bow, and the green crayon snapped in two. _"What?" _she sputtered.

"You have feelings for her, don't you?"

"I…she's my…friend. She's my_ boss_," Amanda stuttered. "Sergeant Olivia Benson of SVU."

"And you really, really care about her."

Amanda's face was all aflame. "I…sure." She finished lamely.

"Well, why don't you tell her? We've already covered this. It's clear the Sergeant cares about you."

"Cause she's a caring person," Amanda said abruptly. "She'd do this for anybody. She's always been good with people in crisis."

"I'll bet there's more to it than that."

Amanda studied the broken pieces of crayon in her hand. She wasn't so sure.

* * *

Ambien did not agree well with Amanda. It made her sleep, but did nothing to diminish the nightmares, which became even more memorable and vivid. She thrashed and whimpered throughout the night, getting all twisted up in the blankets, sending her pillow sailing to the floor. Her dreams were a mash-up of all six office visits with Patton, his hands roaming and groping her body, hitting her, slapping her, pinching her. She was mostly handcuffed, sometimes gagged, either with duct tape, or her own panties; even with the length of Patton himself. Regardless, Amanda was unable to scream, her protests and cries of disgust inaccessible as the Deputy Chief thrust inside of her in a variety of places, violating her everywhere possible.

Even as morning arrived, Amanda still felt drugged and groggy, repeatedly dozing off, unable to keep her eyes open. Her formerly fragmented dreams became terrifyingly lucid in this shallow state of sleep, so that sometimes it was hard for Amanda to tell if she was awake or not. At one point, she lay sideways on the hospital bed, paralyzed, listening to Patton's southern drawl but unable to see him approaching. "Hey, darlin," he said, his voice quivering in the way she knew meant arousal. "You never finished your list."

Amanda opened her mouth to scream, to yell for the nurses, but no sound came out.

"I made other girls finish it, seeing as you didn't keep your end of the deal," he continued casually. "But I'm not lettin' you off the hook, Rollins. There's more for us to do." His hot breath was in the shell of her ear.

Amanda muscles finally loosened and uncoiled, and she swung her fist blindly, connecting with only air. Rough hands grabbed her around the middle, yanking her clean off the bed, and when Amanda thrashed and bucked, the unseen man threw her across the room. Her body bounced onto the hospital tiles, hard.

Amanda kicked and swung at nothing, trying to beat back her familiar assailant, defend herself. Somehow, though, Patton was invisible and elusive, putting his hands all over her, yet impossible to strike. He crushed her with his weight, pinning her arms above her head, snarling in her ear just as he had on the sixth office visit, the other time she had fought back just as desperately. "Ya ungrateful cunt."

A shrill, piercing scream burst past Amanda's lips. Somehow, her arm had broken free, and this time her fist connected with something bony and hard. She heard a sharp gasp and a hiss, and her petrified eyes fluttered open, staring at a pair of white Ked sneakers. Her hands were gripping at someone's scrub pants, yanking at the blue fabric. She had punched a nurse in the shins.

Amanda released the woman's pant leg, contrite but too terrified to worry about apologies. "He's in my room, please get him out," she shrieked. "Please, he's hurting me. He's going to hurt me!" Her body ached from being thrown onto the floor, and her cheek was pressed against cold, hard tiles.

"Ms. Rollins, Ms. Rollins, it's okay," the nurse reassured through gritted teeth. "You're okay, honey, you fell out of bed."

"No, he threw me," she gasped. "He yanked me out of bed. He was going to—to-" Amanda began to wheeze, putting a hand over her chest, unable to describe in words what Patton had been about to do next, unable to even breathe.

"Okay, honey, it's okay," the nurse said, who had crouched down beside her. "You must have rolled off the bed. I need to check your head, see if you're hurt, okay?" There was a scuffle of more sneakers across the room, and the nurse called out to someone, "Please put in a call to Dr. Siefert and the neurologist."

The nurse gently tried to roll Amanda on her back, so that she could get a better look at her, but the blonde detective jerked away, panting, wheezing, gasping, and whimpering.

Another voice from the doorway. "Her friend is here to see her, can I buzz her on the unit? Maybe she can help."

"Sergeant Benson? Buzz her in," the nurse said, her voice harried.

It didn't even register to Amanda that Olivia had come to see her until the older woman was kneeling down next to her, calling to her over the sound of her cries and panicked, heavy breathing. "Amanda, honey, look at me, look at me," she demanded softly, gently tilting Amanda's pale cheek towards her with her fingertips. Amanda looked into the dark eyes of her friend, full of alarm and concern, and mistook her expression to mean that Patton was still on the loose in the hospital, that there was still a terrible threat. She tried to get words out and breathe at the same time. "L-L-Liv…" she gasped.

Olivia trailed Amanda's flushed cheek with one knuckle. "Hey. Hey there." she murmured. "Shhh," she soothed, when the other woman still couldn't inhale properly. "Deep, deep breath, okay? Take a deep, deep breath."

"He…he…he was…"

"Easy, honey, easy. Slow down. You've gotta breathe for me." Olivia placed a warm, firm palm on Amanda's heaving chest, as she had that day in her apartment the first time the younger woman had seriously contemplated suicide. "Now, I want you to breathe in slowly, alright? Nice and slow. In…" she coached, as Amanda sucked in air, "…and out. The younger woman let out a ragged exhale. "Okay, now in…" Olivia instructed, "and out." Amanda wheezed a few more times in an attempt to follow instructions, chest tightening painfully beneath Olivia's hand, which moved in small, soothing circles in response. "Shhh…you can do this," Olivia said firmly. "Good, honey. You're doing great, Amanda."

A few moments later, Amanda was able to even out her breaths enough to formulate words. "Liv, p-please…he was here…he might come back…"

"There's no one here but me and the nurses, sweetie. I heard you had a rough night. Lots of bad dreams. You fell out of bed," Olivia said, still gently rubbing her chest. "We need to make sure you're okay, and that you didn't hit your head. Does it hurt?"

"No," Amanda whispered. Her head didn't particularly hurt other than the persistent, dull ache at the site of her incision, a sensation she had become used to since the surgery. But the rest of her body felt sore, particularly one throbbing elbow. Amanda winced and shifted on the floor to examine it. It was already bruising and turning a sickly green. "I—I fell?" Amanda whimpered, confused. "He didn't throw me out of bed?"

"No, sweetheart. He was never here," Olivia reassured her. "You were dreaming."

Amanda began to tremble, her eyes blurring with hot tears.

"Honey, let's get you off the floor," Olivia said. "Can you sit up for me?"

The younger woman pulled herself up into a sitting position, her insides wobbling, body shaking so much that it was hard to remain upright. Her skin was clammy under the set of striped flannel pajamas she was wearing, and a surge of dizziness and nausea made her pitch forward. Olivia gently steadied her as she doubled over, and Amanda sought comfort from the other woman, curling up onto a ball on the hard tiles and laying her head in Liv's lap.

Olivia stroked her cheek for a few moments, making gentle shushing sounds under her breath. Her fingers ghosted over the bandages turbaned around her head, tucking a free strand of hair behind Amanda's ear. "Alright, babe. I know you're not feeling well, but I need to get you up, okay?" Gently, Olivia tugged Amanda into a sitting position, the other woman limp and sweaty, still breathing shallowly. "

Liv, I'm afraid I'm gonna throw up," Amanda warned, clapping a hand over her mouth.

Olivia motioned to one of the nurses, who quickly brought a pink plastic basin. "It's okay, here," Liv murmured. She handed Amanda the basin to hold and leaned her backwards into her arms to support her and keep her sitting up, bracing her head against her chest, putting a cool hand on her clammy forehead.

"I'm sorry," Amanda gasped. She remembered Patton's last, angry words, the impending, unthinkable threat. She bent over the basin, heaving, mouth watering, trying to choke back the inevitable. "It's okay, honey," Olivia soothed. "Just let it come up, okay?"

Amanda eventually gagged and leaned away from Liv as much as possible, vomiting what little fluids she had in her empty stomach. The older woman whispered to her softly, still bracing her from behind to keep her from crumbling back to the floor. When Amanda had finished being sick, one nurse retrieved the basin, and another brought a wet washcloth, kneeling down and offering to wipe her face. The frightened woman resisted, whimpering and scooting back against Olivia.

"Here, let me," Olivia said, intercepting the cloth. She began dabbing gently at Amanda's face and neck. She muttered to the two nurses, asking something about time to calm Amanda down, and they temporarily backed out of the room.

Amanda weakly twisted herself around and lay her cheek against Olivia's chest, wanting to be as close to the other woman as possible. The blonde's heartbeat was irregular, breaths still uneven, and the only thing keeping her from complete panic was Liv's strong, comforting presence. Olivia wrapped her arms around her, sitting on the floor with her for a few moments.

"Okay, sweetie, let's get you up," she urged again. She didn't even bother to try to have Amanda stand on her own this time, knowing how sick she was feeling. Cradling her head securely to her chest, Olivia hooked her other arm under Amanda's knees and lifted the other woman into her strong arms, grunting softly. She went to lay her down on the bed, but the detective clutched at her desperately as she lowered her to the mattress, hands bunching the back of Olivia's grey sweater. "Okay, honey, okay," Olivia soothed, arranging them on the edge of the bed so that the tiny woman was cradled in her lap. "I'm right here."

Amanda let out a gusty sob. "I—I really thought he was in here, Liv. He was going to…to…"

"It's okay, Amanda," Olivia said softly. "He can't hurt you anymore. It's over now. Shhh." She rocked Amanda in her arms. "It's over."

"Please don't leave me," Amanda begged.

"I won't, my love. I'm gonna stay right here with you."

The younger woman closed her eyes, choking on another series of sobs. "You can cry if you need to, Amanda." Liv reassured her. "Go ahead, okay?"

Amanda wept, pressing her face into Olivia's shoulder, sniffling and whimpering like a frightened child. She was vaguely embarrassed that her nose was running and her tears were dampening her boss's sweater, but she was too frightened and exhausted to turn away. Unfazed, the older woman continued to rock them gently on the bed until Amanda's gasps and cries became shuddery sighs and hiccups.

"Liv," she finally moaned, when she could take a breath. "Liv, I…" she faltered.

"Take your time. Just take your time." Olivia said.

Amanda came out of hiding, turning her face to the side. "That nightmare seemed so real, Liv. I can't get him out of my head."

"I know, sweetheart."

"All of the sudden I'm reliving everything, all the stuff I never let myself think about. "

"Do you want to talk about it?" Olivia asked gently. She leaned over towards the nightstand to grab a few tissues from the Kleenex box, keeping Amanda in her lap. She dabbed at the younger woman's face and then handed the tissue to Amanda when she feebly gestured for it. Ashamed, the detective wiped and blew her nose. "I don't know. I haven't been able to talk to the psychiatrist about anything specific all week."

"That's okay," Olivia said. "You took such a big step the other day, when you told me how many times Patton assaulted you. It isn't easy to share the details."

"Can I share something with you?" Amanda whispered timidly.

"Yes, honey, of course."

"Patton—he had a list."

"What do you mean?" Olivia prodded.

"The first time he called me into his office, he had me take off all my clothes, strip naked. And he made a list…a list of things he wanted to do to me. Disgusting things. He said if I didn't do everything on the list, that he'd arrest Kim, and that she would be sure to check off every item, to stay outta jail. He called it the 'Rollins Whore List.' " Amanda sobbed in disgust. "He was right, you know," she said bitterly. "I was so scared for Kim, and for my job, that I whored myself out."

"Amanda!" Olivia shifted her in her lap so that she could put two hands on each of Amanda's damp cheeks. "Stop it. You are _not _to blame. You know what's key in what you just told me? You were scared. You were so, so, scared, honey. You felt threatened, like you didn't have any choice. Patton made you feel like you didn't have any choice." She cradled Amanda's head against her shoulder, rocking her soothingly once more.

Amanda let out a whimper of fear again now, remembering how it had felt as Patton took notes, circling her with a pad of paper, clucking his tongue and appraising her body, while she stood on trembling legs, bracing herself on the edge of the desk with clammy hands, leaving sweaty handprints on the sleek mahogany. "He s-said everyone knew I wasn't the good girl I pretended to be," she stuttered. "That if I yelled for help, for someone to come in, they would think I was coming onto _him_. I didn't want to strip for him, Liv,_" _Amanda said, her throat closing up on her. "It was the last thing I wanted, I swear."

"Oh, honey, you don't need to convince me."

"He read off the list when he was done writing. I knew what kinds of sick things he was going to do before I came into his office each time. Oh, God, Olivia, how could I walk _in_ there…"

"Amanda, stop. This kind of thinking isn't helping you. It's just a way to blame yourself instead of accepting what happened to you, so that you can start to move on," Liv said sternly, pulling back again to look into Amanda's lost eyes.

"I'm sorry," Amanda whispered. She directed her gaze downward.

Olivia sighed. "Sweetheart, you don't need to apologize. I know it's hard," she conceded. "Believe me, I've been there, and so have so many of the people we work with every day. It's so easy to look back and see what we could have done differently rather than admit how powerless we really were."

"I never have trouble convincing the vic not to be ashamed," Amanda said, lower lip quivering. "But…"

"But it's different when something happens to you," Olivia finished for her quietly. She gazed at her tenderly, with understanding.

"One of the things that scares me the most…" Amanda said. "Is that...after I left Atlanta…Patton went after other girls… " she covered her mouth, sickened. ""I didn't say anything, Liv. Because I was in fucking denial, because I was scared, because…"

"Shhh….stop," Liv whispered.

"Reese is on me," Amanda choked out. "How many more?"

"Oh baby, don't do this to yourself." The older woman brought Amanda back into her arms. "None of this is on you, okay? This is on Patton."

"I'm an SVU detective, Liv," Amanda sputtered, beginning to work herself up. "How d-dare I encourage—victims—to—sp-speak out, to t-testify, to…"

Olivia seemed to realize that chastising Amanda for her guilt wouldn't get them anywhere. She just held her close, rocking her, letting her cry.

* * *

Dr. Siefert was apologetic when he met with Amanda, after the neurologist had given her a quick exam just to make sure she indeed hadn't hit her head when she fell out of bed. He explained that for a small number of people, Ambien could case sleep disturbances, night terrors, but that since it was usually a fast-acting sleep aid, he had thought that the benefits of a good night's rest had outweighed the potential side effects.

Amanda nodded. "I just didn't react well to it. You couldn't have known," she said, shrugging tiredly. "And I've had nightmares before. This was just one of the worst," she admitted.

Dr. Siefert pulled a chair up by her hospital bed. "I'm here to listen, if you'd like to talk about it."

Amanda shook her head. "No thank you," she mumbled.

"Was it just a nightmare, or was it also a memory?" the doctor asked, gently plying for information while still honoring Amanda's choice not to share specifics.

"It was…a little of both." Amanda sucked in a breath. "Part of the dream—it reminded me of the last time my commanding officer called me into his office. He wanted to have sex with me, but I fought back pretty hard that time, and…" she trailed off, biting her lip, looking at the doctor with surprised blue eyes. She hadn't expected to share anything with him. And she was still too vulnerable and weakened to dare speak about or even think about the final office visit with Patton. But a confession was blooming on her tongue.

"Go on, Amanda," the doctor encouraged gently, sensing she had something to say.

"I—I'm ready to tell you a little bit more about what happened to me."

The doctor folded his hands expectantly.

"Five years ago—I was assaulted by my commanding officer over a dozen times," she said slowly, struggling to get the words out. "Once in a motel room, and then six other times, over about a 6-week period. I shared on the stand in a court room that I was raped once—but I never said it was repeated. I didn't even admit it to myself. Not until recently."

"Am I the first person you've told?"

"The only other person that knows is my friend Olivia."

"Wow," the doctor said softly. "What a tremendous step. You've been keeping this inside for so long, and you've told two people in the span of a week. What's more, you've started facing this yourself. Which can be the biggest challenge of all sometimes."

"This is hardly an accomplishment," Amanda said, bristling slightly. "For me to do the job I do, and take over five years to come forward about something like this…" she gazed down at her lap. "It's pathetic."

"I'm not patronizing you, Detective Rollins." Dr. Siefert assured her. "I'm speaking sincerely. Do you know what I think is remarkable? That you have dedicated your life to helping victims of violent crimes, and are so passionate about getting them justice, considering you were never able to get justice for yourself. That you were able to do so well, to do such an important public service, even though you were secretly suffering."

The words had their intended impact. For once, Amanda didn't have anything to argue, even if she still couldn't quite believe what Dr. Siefert was saying. She looked at the kind doctor with the salt-and-pepper hair. "I think maybe I'd like to give this all a shot," she finally muttered.

"Give what a shot?" Dr. Siefert asked, his bushy eyebrows raising above his glasses.

"This whole 'talking to a shrink' thing," she admitted. "I'm thinking, just maybe, you'd be able to help me."

"As I said in our last session, I'd be honored." Dr. Siefert had a smile that made his eyes crinkle round the edges.

Olivia appeared in the open doorway to the exam room, holding a paper cup in each hand. She raised her eyebrows in surprise to see that Amanda and the doctor were still talking. "I'm sorry, I'll come back," she said.

"No, Liv, stay," Amanda said with a smile. "Especially since you come bearing what I hope is coffee?"

"I do have coffee, but it's for me," Liv teased gently. "I brought you some herbal tea—something soothing. The nurses have banned me from bringing you caffeine until we're sure you're calm and feeling better, and see how your body reacts to the new medicines you're on."

"Oh great," Amanda said, rolling her eyes. "They think I'm a bitch to deal with now? Wait till they all see me without caffeine."

Olivia sighed, smiled, and shook her head. "I'll let you have a little sip of my coffee, okay? You can get your fix." She took her own small sip of the hot beverage before handing it to Amanda, and for some reason this simple gesture made Amanda's heart skip a few beats, being able to drink from the same cup as Olivia.

"Don't you dare chug," Olivia warned, and Amanda obediently just took one little swallow. The coffee was rich and bold and black—even if it was hospital coffee, Amanda decided it was the best she ever tasted. She and Olivia traded cups, and Amanda nursed her tea, turning to the doctor.

"Please tell me this "no caffeine" rule is only temporary. I didn't agree to giving up my coffee when I agreed to go on these meds," she grumped to Dr. Siefert, unconcerned that Liv was in the room. Her Sergeant, who she had already told about the meds, was getting to know more and more of her, even her most private secrets, and she realized she was totally okay with it.

"Of course you can have it," the doctor quickly reassured, quick to keep the tenuous rapport between them. "Being a three -cupper- a-day myself, it wouldn't be fair to ask a client of mine to give up coffee entirely." He winked. "It's just that as you're adjusting to the meds and we're monitoring side effects, it makes sense not to have any other substances in your system. That way, say, if you're jittery and nervous or you can't sleep at bedtime, we can know that an afternoon cup of coffee wasn't the culprit, and can more safely say it might be from the meds."

"I gotcha, I gotcha," Amanda grumbled. "I don't have to like it, though." She sipped her tea, tasting hints of vanilla. The drink was very Liv, who always smelled faintly of vanilla herself, whether from a perfume or body wash or a shampoo, Amanda didn't know.

"Hey, honey…" Olivia inquired softly as Dr. Siefert left the room, "I don't mean to pry, but did he just say you were his client? Did you agree to start seeing him regularly?"

Amanda couldn't be surly, not when Olivia had a smile on her face unlike any she had ever seen. It was tender and sincere and strangely vulnerable.

"Er…yeah."

Olivia tilted her head, still smiling at her in that unguarded way, her eyes glistening with what might be tears.

"What?" Amanda said, squirming uncomfortably. "I said I wanted to get better, didn't I?"

Olivia reached forward and gathered the younger woman into her arms, squeezing her tightly.

* * *

Mackey's trial would run at least another week, so Olivia regretfully told Amanda that she wouldn't be able to visit for another few days if she hadn't been discharged by then. At the end of Liv's visit that Saturday morning, she and Amanda got into a small squabble when the younger woman had pressed her for details about what had happened in court, on how Jewel was doing, with Olivia finally caving the slightest bit and at least telling her that their vic seemed to be holding up, after Amanda became argumentative and tearful.

"Honestly, Amanda, I'm getting frustrated," Liv said in the doorway, one hand on her hip, her grey sweater rolled up to her elbow. "You're constantly pushing the boundaries. Right now, you're off-duty, still recovering in a hospital, and you are demanding to hear details about an ongoing trial and personal information about a victim. I've told you before, this isn't your case anymore."

Amanda looked away, stung and angry. "Point taken, Liv," she said, trying to keep her voice steady. "Please, go spend the weekend with your son, okay?"

Olivia heaved a sigh. "Amanda-"

"Leave me be," Amanda snapped. She sat stiffly on the edge of her hospital bed, arms crossed tightly across her chest, trying to look pissed off and unapproachable but obviously failing, because Olivia crossed the room, kneeled down, and gently rubbed her knee.

"Hey, honey? I know it's hard to let go of this, case, okay? But you _need_ to let go of it. You're doing such a good job focusing on getting better, and worrying about this trial—thinking about it constantly—isn't going to help you do that. You had a really hard time with this case, sweetheart. I don't want you involved, and as your commanding officer, I need you to respect that."

* * *

Amanda was sad and agitated the rest of the weekend, the only somewhat heartening moment being when her neurologist told her she no longer needed a full turban of bandages, just steri-strips and gauze. He also told her she'd likely be ready for discharge from intensive care sometime next week, with Dr. Siefert making the final decision about where she'd be transferred or whether she was ready to return home.

On her Monday morning appointment with Dr. Siefert, she and the psychiatrist talked about the significance of the Mackey case, why it was such a trigger point for Amanda. "I can't believe Olivia is shutting me out of the trial," Amanda sputtered to the doctor. "I saw that case through to the arrest, helped catalogue the evidence, comfort the vic. I should be kept somewhat informed, so I'm not constantly wondering how things turned out, if the girls at least got justice.I could barely get her to tell me whether conviction was likely, how the prosecution is doing. I didn't exactly ask her to give me a goddamn transcript of every statement in court."

She stared at a random spot on the wall, not looking at Dr. Siefert, Olivia's words still on repeat in her mind. _You're constantly pushing the boundaries. _It hadn't exactly been Liv's harshest reprimand in the time they'd known each other, but it was the one that perhaps bothered her the most. The words hurt in an unexpected way, gnawing at her gut, sometimes even bringing tears to her eyes. If Olivia thought she was pushing the boundaries now, what would she think if she knew her subordinate had contemplated kissing her? How would she feel if she knew Amanda Rollins loved her?

"You alright?" Dr. Siefert asked.

"Just thinking," Amanda muttered. "There's nothing to do in this place but think." Her lip quivered. "It's been almost a month that I've been locked inside a hospital. Please. Is there any way you can consider discharging me to go home? Physically, they're about ready to let me go."

Dr. Siefert studied her. "I've been thinking a lot about that, what to recommend," he said. "There's a lot to consider. Speaking frankly, Amanda, your suicide attempts have been very serious. I'll need to know with certainty that you have no plans to harm yourself. Another consideration is your adjustment to your medication, the process of making sure we find something that is going to alleviate some of your sadness and anxiety and help you feel better. I know how much you have been suffering, and I want to make sure that you get the right combination of medicine and therapy to help things improve for you. I'm thinking that you still might need some more support than simple outpatient sessions can provide you, at least while we find the right meds and the right dose for you."

Amanda sucked in a breath, struggling not to hyperventilate. "You've gotta be kidding me. Are you saying…"

"All I'm saying, Amanda, is that I want to make the best decision for you. And that also takes into account your wishes and feelings. I know you don't wish to be inpatient. And I know that there is some conflict of interest with you being on the original unit Dr. Porter recommended. So I've thought of one option that might work well. There's an outpatient day hospital program separate from the trauma and PTSD inpatient unit here at Bellevue. You'd be able to meet with me as your psychiatrist during the day, and attend groups and sessions, many of which are tailored to people with trauma and PTSD. There are also groups for depression and addiction. That way, we can provide you with the structure and support you need during the day, and you have the freedom to go home in the evenings. My one concern…"

"What?" Amanda asked abruptly. "I'd be supervised all day. Already I think that's overkill. What are your concerns?"

"Honestly, Amanda? That you live alone, and wouldn't have enough support at home. I can tell you're a very independent woman, which is great. But your flashbacks and PTSD symptoms have been particularly severe, to the point of sleepwalking or forgetting where you are. That can be dangerous, particularly while we're playing around with medications. Not to mention that you've struggled with self-harm. I'm worried that your current living situation isn't safe."

A helpless, panicky feeling took over Amanda, causing her heart to kick up into a frenzy. "I am perfectly capable of being home," she sputtered. "This is insane. What am I supposed to do? How long am I supposed to be babysat?"

"I didn't say you need a babysitter," Dr. Porter corrected gently. "I said you need support. Are there any friends that you can stay with in the city temporarily, while you'd be in the day hospital program? Or friends that could come and stay with you?"

"I—" Amanda trailed off. She'd stayed with Nick for awhile during their short fling together, sometimes sleeping over for the weekends. But the two of them had been on the outs for weeks, and Amaro, along with her other male squad members, didn't know any of the details of her hospitalization. She wasn't ready to explain anything to them yet, feeling too stubborn and fragile to admit the state she was in to anyone right now. But, there was one friend that already knew everything. Her best friend, the woman she loved. She wouldn't be asking anything of Olivia, though. She wasn't going to push the boundaries.

* * *

Amanda was curled up on her side the next afternoon in the same old hospital bed, feeling hollowed out and empty, when she heard a knock on the doorframe. Lifting her head, she saw Olivia in the doorway, dressed for court as she usually did, a flowing, royal blue blouse layered with a black blazer, matching black pants, and shiny gold police badge clipped to one belt loop. She looked crisp, professional, and purposeful, as always.

"What are you doing here?" Amanda muttered, propping her head on one elbow. She didn't bother to get up from the bed. "I thought the trial was all week."

"Well, hello to you too," Olivia quipped, walking inside the room. "The judge gave us a long recess for lunch, so I'd thought I'd come by and say hi."

Amanda grudgingly sat up, peering up at Olivia through her blonde bangs.

"Hey, look at you, healing." Olivia said softly. "You got to lose all the bandages." Gently, she tucked a strand of blonde hair behind Amanda's ear, and the woman stiffened, both craving the touch and wanting to pull away.

"What's the matter?" Liv asked. "You seem upset."

"I'm…there's a lot on my mind, Liv, alright?"

"Do you want to talk? I have some time for a trip to the cafeteria. I'll buy you some lunch."

"No need to spend money on me, Liv," Amanda said. "I'm not hungry."

"That doesn't mean you don't need to eat," Olivia admonished gently. "Come on. They might even have something chocolate, for dessert."

* * *

Olivia bought herself a tuna sandwich and Amanda a grilled cheese, the younger woman nibbling in silence for awhile before speaking. Finally, she told Liv about her dilemma, about the opportunity to be transferred to day hospital, but the requirement that she have more "support" and not live completely alone for awhile. She tried to keep her voice nonchalant. "Guess I'm screwed, huh, having no friends or family in the city?" she said. In spite of her best efforts, her voice quivered.

"Amanda, you have friends," Olivia scolded. She put down her tuna sandwich and slid her hand across the table, putting it atop Amanda's clenched fist and gently stroking her knuckles with her thumb. "Are you saying you need a place to stay?"

"No," Amanda mumbled. "That's way too much to ask of anybody." She pulled her hand out from under Olivia's .

"Why is it too much to ask?" Olivia asked softly.

Amanda shrugged in discomfort.

The older woman leaned forward at the table, gazing at Amanda kindly. "You could stay at my place for awhile," she finally said. "I have a den with a daybed, extra bathroom." She paused, then, choosing her words. "But I'd need you to promise me something, Amanda-that you will talk to someone and ask for help if you feel like hurting yourself in any way. If I ever feel like you're in danger, I'm gonna have to bring you back to the hospital. I need to know that you'll be safe and make good choices."

Amanda stared at Liv, speechless. "You're…inviting me to stay with you and Noah?" she finally asked, incredulous. Wasn't this a breach of the "boundaries?" Amanda's heart began to thud in her chest.

"Frannie's already made herself at home," Olivia said with a shrug and a smile. "You might as well too."

A long silence stretched between them. "I promise, Liv, that I'll make good choices while I'm stayin' with you guys," Amanda said, then blushed. "It would just be temporary," she clarified hastily. "I wouldn't be there all that long. Just while I'm in day hospital. It's not like I don't know how to take care of myself."

Olivia nodded thoughtfully. "I know you're eager to be on your own. But honey, this might be the best thing for you. This way, you'll be around people during your recovery. It's good that you won't be alone."

Amanda was quiet for another few moments, chewing her lip, thinking. "I'm not exactly the easiest person to live with, Olivia," she finally warned with a smirk. "I'm used to leavin' dishes in the sink at home and throwing clothes on the floor. I also eat cereal in bed in the morning. Sometimes I get crumbs on the sheets."

"Oh good," Olivia snorted, rolling her eyes. "Like owner, like dog. Frannie is not exactly the neatest or the most polite houseguest. She _licks _herself in bed, and has knocked the kitchen trashcan over pretty much once a day. It doesn't help that Noah reinforces it. He thinks it's hysterical and claps his hands every time. "

Amanda blushed. "Hey, at least she doesn't randomly burst into song. Which I do a lot, and not well, I might add. Mostly country, sometimes pop songs."

"You can sing Noah to sleep at night," Olivia said, shrugging. "Your singing can't be any worse than my lullabies." Her smile was playful, affectionate. "I'm not gonna change my mind, Rollins. You're welcome to stay."

Amanda blinked a few times, fighting the prick of tears. "What lullabies do you sing, Liv?" she finally asked, trying to keep the mood casual. "The Barney song? I love you, you love me…"

"Hey, I told you about the Barney song in confidence," Olivia said with mock sternness. "I reserve that song for when I'm drunk. Besides, Barney was always a bit scary to me. I don't want my son into a big purple dinosaur."

"No…only a freakishly big red dog," Amanda teased, thinking of Noah and his Clifford.

"I thought you were a dog person," Liv chuckled.

"I'm a Frannie Mae person."

"Well, you'll be seeing your girl soon," Olivia said.

Amanda chewed her lower lip again. "Olivia, I…I don't know how can I thank you. For everything. For watching my dog, takin' care of me, inviting me to stay at your place…no one has ever..." She swiped helplessly at her damp eyes, groaning at yet another show of emotion.

"Oh, honey. It's been my pleasure," Olivia said warmly. She stood up from the table and gently rubbed Amanda's shoulder. "Now let's see about getting you outta here."


End file.
